


Closing Time

by Bad_Faery



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 157,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Faery/pseuds/Bad_Faery
Summary: When businessman Gold discovers that his favorite bartender is being forced to marry a man she doesn't love in order to pay her father's medical bills, he proposes an alternate solution.





	1. Chapter 1

After an endless day of being trapped in a stuffy room listening to a group of grown men squabble and bicker like children, the last thing Diarmid Gold wanted to do was spend the night drinking with the same vacuous group in the hotel bar.  It was worth the two block walk away from the glitz of the Luxe in favor of the run-down Hotel Griffith just to escape them.

It would be worth walking two miles just to catch a glimpse of the Griffith’s lovely bartender.

Gold paused in the Griffith’s lobby just outside the door to the bar to smooth his hair back and straighten his tie, taking a moment to simply enjoy the anticipation.  In a moment, he would step into the bar and Belle’s eyes would light up at the sight of him.  They always did.

From the first night he came to the Griffith, he and Belle had been fast friends.  He’d chosen the bar because the internet had assured him that it was continually deserted.  His plan was to drink in peace, and instead, he’d met a tiny chestnut-haired bookworm with the most beautiful accent he’d ever heard.

Even now, eighteen months later, he could still picture the first glimpse he’d ever gotten of her— leaning against the bar with her nose buried in a copy of _An Instance of the Fingerpost_ that he would swear was as big as she was.  He hadn’t been able to resist commenting on it, half-expecting her to spit in his scotch.  Instead, she’d laughed.

No one ever laughed at his jokes, and Gold had been both instantly charmed and utterly determined to make her laugh again.  He’d sat in the bar until closing time, her sole customer, his desire for solitude forgotten in favor of the pleasure of talking to Belle.

Once, he’d loathed the monthly business trips that took him to Boston, but now Gold counted down the days to each one, and his only objection was that they weren’t longer.  Somewhere around the six month mark, Belle had given him her phone number, allowing them to spend the interminable period between his trips texting each other about books and playing long-distance chess.  He’d set up a board in his home office, and whenever she texted him with another move, he could picture her sitting there so clearly that he could nearly touch her.  

He was smitten, Gold admitted to himself.  He was completely smitten with his adorable little bartender, a woman half his age.  In the long weeks that dragged on between their visits, his insecurities nagged at him, suggesting that Belle humored his attentions solely because he tipped her well.  Yet, whenever he was in her presence, those fears flew away.  Her happiness at the sight of him was too pure to be feigned.  Belle enjoyed his company.

He’d waited long enough to see her.  With a final tug on his waistcoat, he stepped into the dimly lit bar, pleased to see how few of the tables were occupied.  His greatest fear was that the Griffith would suddenly become a hot spot, forcing him to share Belle’s attention.

“Mr. Gold!”

Gold faltered as Belle called out a greeting.  She was smiling, true, but her smile carried less brilliance than usual and her eyes weren’t shining the way they were supposed to.  Could she be ill?  He hadn’t done something to anger her, had he?

“Belle.”  He limped closer and rested his cane against a stool as he held his hands out to her across the bar.  To his relief, she immediately placed her hands in his as she always did, but as he gazed at her, her smile faded and her eyes grew glassy.

“Belle?”  Horrified, Gold clutched her hands tighter when she tried to pull away.  He’d been here for less than ninety seconds.  How had he possibly made her cry?

“I’m sorry!”  Belle blinked rapidly and tried to smile.  “I’m glad to see you.  How did your meetings go?”

“To hell with that,” he said, his voice rough.  It wasn’t like him to lose control of his accent, but when faced with Belle’s distress, he felt wild, ready to bite and claw to bring her smile back to her face.  He’d tear the world apart if it would make her happy.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Nervously, Belle glanced over his shoulder, and Gold half-turned, seeing only the usual apathetic drunks that occasionally intruded on their space.  Lowering his voice, he asked, “Is someone bothering you?”

Belle let out a hiccoughing sob at his question that made his chest hurt.  He adjusted his grip on her hands so he could stroke the back of her fingers with his thumbs, and as he did, he became aware of something new, something out of place.

Sick to his stomach, Gold looked down, and his head swam as he confirmed his worst fears.  There was a diamond solitaire on Belle’s fourth finger.  It was a pretty enough thing, a bit ostentatious for his tastes, but otherwise unobjectionable.  It was the most revolting thing Gold had ever seen.

He released her hands and swallowed back bile, fighting the urge to rip the hideous thing off her finger and fling it across the room or out the window, to remove all sign of some other man’s possession of his Belle.

Except she wasn’t his Belle any longer.  She never really had been.

“I must congratulate you.”  He was proud of how even his voice sounded.  No doubt this was why Belle was upset— she feared his reaction.

“Don’t!”  

He glanced up at the sharp note in her voice.  Belle snatched her hands off the bar and held them behind her back.  “Don’t you _dare_ congratulate me.  I couldn’t bear it.  Not from you.”

That wasn’t the voice of a happy bride-to-be.  “Tell me,” he demanded.  If her fiancé had forced her into this, he’d introduce the other man to his cane.

Belle’s eyes filled with tears as she shook her head.  “You don’t want to know.”

“Hey!  Can we get some more whiskey over here?”

Instantly, Belle turned away from him to grab the half-empty bottle, and as soon as she turned back around, Gold plucked it out of her trembling hand.  Not bothering with his cane, he limped the ten steps to the blond man’s table and plunked it down in the center.  “Here.  It’s on me.”

“Hey, thanks, buddy!”

That should keep them busy for a while.  When Gold returned to the bar, he moved to sit at the far corner, putting as much distance between him and Belle and the rest of the patrons as possible.  “Belle, talk to me.”

Her face hardened as she let out a mirthless laugh.  “I’m a whore.”

“Excuse me?”  There was no way he’d heard that correctly.

Belle folded her arms across her chest and shrugged.  “I’m marrying a man for his money.  I’m a whore.”

“Belle, please…”  They were only feet apart, but it felt like she was miles away.  “I don’t understand.  Just _talk_ to me, sweetheart.”

Belle’s face crumpled.  “Stop being nice to me!”

“Oh, for the love of God…”  Everything he was saying was just making things worse.  He’d might as well go for broke.

In an instant, he was around the bar, Belle watching warily as he approached her.  “Come here.”

He was taking a huge risk.  Belle already seemed angry, and he’d never dared touch more than her hands before.  She would be well within her rights to slap him.  Knowing that, he held his arms out to her anyway, silently pleading.

Belle flung herself into his embrace, her hands latching onto his lapels in a death grip as she sobbed against his shoulder.  “Mr. Gold…!”

She was crying like her heart was breaking, but all Gold could feel was relief.  They were going to be all right.  Something was clearly very wrong; she was distressed and it hurt his soul, but she’d reached for him instead of pushing him away.  She was in his arms and clinging to him like a lifeline, and whatever was wrong, he was going to _fix_ it.

“I’m here, sweetheart.  I’m here,” he murmured into her hair, pulling her closer in an effort to protect her from the world.  "Tell me what’s wrong.“

“It’s my father.  He had a stroke _years_ ago.  We don’t have insurance; he’s not a citizen, but he can’t go back to Melbourne.  He shouldn’t even be left alone.  He keeps getting worse, and I can’t pay the bills.  I can’t hire someone to take care of him… that’s why I work nights.  Lately, he’d been waking up and doing things… trying to cook… He’s going to set the apartment on fire or fall and hurt himself, and I don’t know what to _do_ any more.”

Belle looked up at him with desperate eyes.  “I have to do _something_.  Greg… he likes me.  And he’s rich.”

With a muffled sob, she buried her face against his tie.  “I’m a whore.”

“You’re a loving daughter,” Gold corrected as he rubbed her back, struggling to process everything she’d just told him.  Until this moment, he’d been only intellectually aware that Belle even _had_ a father.  That she should have to ruin her own life to take care of the man set Gold’s teeth on edge, but she didn’t need his own daddy issues rubbing off on her.  Unlike him, Belle apparently loved her father.

“You don’t love him?  Greg?”  That was the key issue.  As long as Belle didn't think she was in love with another man, everything else was just details.

“No.”  Her immediate answer soothed his frayed nerves.  “He’s all right, I guess.  I mean, I don’t hate him or anything.  He’s just… boring.  Shallow.”

"Thank God,” Gold breathed, pulling her closer to kiss her temple, the relief leaving him light-headed.  If the best Belle could say about her fiancé was that he was “all right”, he still had a chance.

“It doesn’t matter though,” she sighed, tears already starting again. “Everything’s such a _mess_.”

“It matters a great deal to me,” he corrected.  

If he was a decent person, he would ask Belle how much she needed and pull out his checkbook.  If he was a decent person, he would offer to research doctors and treatment programs for her until he found the very best for her father.  If he was a decent person, he would assure her that she had nothing to fear because he was going to take care of everything just for the pleasure of seeing her smile.

However, he wasn’t a decent person.  He was Diarmid Gold, and he’d spent his entire life searching for weaknesses to exploit in order to get what he wanted.  Falling for Belle had softened him, but beneath his affection for her, he was still the same ruthless bastard he’d always been.  This situation, while horrible for her, provided him with an opportunity that he might never have again.  It wasn’t in his nature to ignore that.

“You’re not going to marry Greg for his money,” he told Belle firmly.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide.  “I’m not?”

“No.”  Gold stroked his fingers over her cheek, his heart skipping a beat at the feel of her soft skin.

“You’re going to marry me for mine.”


	2. Chapter 2

Gold wasn’t sure what response he expected to his unorthodox proposal.  While it would have been nice if Belle threw herself into his arms and exclaimed that she’d be thrilled to marry him and she adored him for solving all of her problems so neatly, he couldn’t really imagine her doing any such thing.  This was real life, not the end of a romantic comedy. 

Even so, it was a disappointment when she took an immediate step away from him, her blue eyes stricken.

“I can’t.”

Swallowing hard, Gold concentrated on keeping his face smooth.  He was a businessman.  He made deals for a living.  He knew how to handle situations like this.  He’d made an opening offer, and this was Belle’s counter.  Now, they just had to find enough middle ground to ensure both of them got what they wanted.  It shouldn’t be a difficult negotiation.  Belle wanted his money, and he wanted her company.  There was a great deal of middle ground to be had.

“Actually, you can.  People break engagements every day.  If you mean to say you _won’t_ marry me, that’s a different discussion.”  He was proud of how even his voice sounded, betraying no hint of how emotionally invested he was in Belle’s response.  He was negotiating for his future happiness, but he could easily have been discussing stock options.

Belle winced.  “People should marry for love.”

That hurt.  For all intents and purposes, Belle had just said that she didn’t have any tender feelings for him and never could, yet he didn’t have time to think about that right now.  She didn't love him, but she’d just told him point-blank that neither did she love Greg.  He could work with that.  “Did I misunderstand your feelings for your fiancé?”

“No,” she said at once, restoring his confidence.  “I don’t care about Greg, that’s why I can… It’s different with you.  Don’t you want to fall in love some day?  If you’re stuck with me…”

She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.  Belle was trying to protect him, Gold realized, feeling almost giddy with relief.  “I married for love once and it was an unmitigated disaster,” he informed her.  He’d been twenty years old and head over heels for Milah.  It hadn’t taken long to realize that the woman he thought he loved had been only a construct of his own imagination.  

“But still—“  Belle began, falling silent when he raised his hand.

“I’m not the sort of man to whom love comes easily.  I don’t believe in fairy tales, Belle.  I don’t think you’re in a position to believe in them either.”  He wasn’t capable of the kind of love Belle was talking about, but love had nothing to do with a successful marriage.  

“I enjoy your company, and I believe you enjoy mine.  That gives us an advantage over nearly every married couple I know.  Our personalities are compatible and we share common interests.  Can you say the same for your fiancé?”  Gold had no illusions about his own charms, but he was reasonably sure that Belle wouldn’t describe _him_ as boring and shallow as she had Greg.  

Belle’s shoulders slumped.  “No.”  

He’d done enough talking.  Years of negotiating had taught him what a powerful weapon silence could be.  When he said nothing, it put pressure on the other person to pick up his slack.  It was time to see how Belle responded to the case he’d made for their marriage.

“You’re right that I’d be happier as your wife than as Greg’s.  You just make it all sound so cold-blooded.  I mean… When Greg proposed, he at least said he loved me.”  Belle wrapped her arms around herself like she was cold.

Gold considered her words.  He’d offered Belle financial stability and agreeable companionship.  He couldn’t imagine that she wanted more than that from him.  Diarmid Gold wasn’t the kind of man who believed in love, but if Belle wanted the words, he would give them to her.  “Do you want me to tell you I love you?”

She shuddered.  “Please don’t.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of her tone.  “Love is fleeting and overrated.  It’s a cocktail of rushing hormones that makes people do ridiculous things that they regret as soon as it wears off.  That’s nothing to base a life-altering decision like marriage on.”

From the other side of the room, the table of whiskey drinkers was starting to get loud as they made a dent in the bottle Gold had given them, but he was deaf to their raucous talk.  All he could hear was Belle’s uneven breathing as she stared him down.

“What do you get out of this?  You’ve made a good case for why I should marry you, but why do you want to marry me?”  There was something challenging in her voice, as though Belle was trying to provoke him.

Fortunately, her questions were easy to answer.  “I enjoy your company, and I would enjoy having it more often.  I’ve grown tired of living alone.”  He’d lived alone for decades without feeling the lack of companionship, but in the year and a half since he met Belle, his house had felt too big for him alone.

She raised one eyebrow.  “You don’t believe in love, but I do.  What happens in five years if I fall in love with someone?”

Gold was unprepared for the rush of rage that filled him at the very thought of Belle falling in love with someone else.  He didn’t expect her to fall in love with _him_.  It wouldn’t be fair considering that he was incapable of returning such a sentiment, but he would not tolerate her loving another man.  “I divorced once and have no intention of doing so again.  Despite my shortcomings, I will be a loyal and faithful husband.  I expect no less from you.”

For some reason, his words seemed to put Belle at ease.  Her shoulders relaxed, and she let her arms fall to her sides, her eyes warming.  “You don’t believe in fairy tales, but you do believe in happily ever after?”

“I believe in until death do us part,” he corrected, then relented.  “I’ll try to make you happy, Belle.  I believe I can succeed.”

“I think you can too.”  She gave him a small smile that made Gold feel as though he’d been bathed in sunlight after an eternity underground.  “All right.  Yes.  I’ll marry you.”

“Thank you.”  Taking Belle’s hands in his, he lifted them to his mouth to kiss the backs of her fingers, sealing their bargain.  When his lips found her engagement ring, he did what he’d been wanting to do since the moment he saw it.  With one quick movement he wrested it from her finger and tucked it into his jacket pocket.  “You won’t be needing this any longer.”

“I need to give it back to Greg.  He won’t be happy.”  Belle nibbled on her lower lip, and Gold swallowed a groan.

“I’ll do it for you if you like,” he offered.  As her soon-to-be husband, it was his job to protect her from all unpleasantness.  Nor could Gold deny that it would be very enjoyable to thumb his nose at his rival as he presented Greg with the knowledge that Belle had chosen _him_.  

Belle shook her head.  “No, I need to do it.  It’s the right thing to do.  But if you want to come along for moral support, I won’t argue with you.”

With everything between them settled, Gold reclaimed his seat at the bar and coaxed Belle to take the stool next to him so they could make some plans.  At the moment, he didn’t care to be separated from her even by the width of the bar.  She wasn’t his bartender any more.  Now, she was his fiancée.

Before long, she wouldn’t be a bartender at all.  “You’ll need to give your notice and pack your things.  I can hire movers for you if you’d like.”  Now that Belle had agreed to be his wife, waiting even the standard two weeks for her to quit her job felt like an eternity.

“There’s no point.  We don’t have that much to pack.”  Belle’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him.  “You _do_ intend for Dad to live with us, don’t you?  I won’t put him in a home.”

If living with her father was the price he had to pay to have Belle all to himself, Gold would pay it without complaint.  “Of course.  I hope you won’t object to hiring a caretaker for him though.  You can’t do everything yourself, and as my wife, you’ll have certain obligations.”

“It has to be someone nice,” Belle warned him, clearly not entirely comfortable with the idea.

“We’ll select someone together,” he promised.  

“What sort of obligations are you talking about?” she asked suspiciously.

“Dinner parties, fund-raisers, things of that ilk.  Dull but necessary.”  That was assuming all of his colleagues didn’t die of shock when he presented his beautiful young bride.

“I’ve never had to do anything like that before.  You’re going to have to walk me through it.  I’ll try not to embarrass you.”  Belle’s face flushed a soft shade of pink that enchanted Gold.  If she looked at his clients like that, they wouldn’t notice if she opted to eat her soup straight out of the serving bowl.

“I have the utmost confidence in you.”  When he rested his hand on top of hers, Belle promptly wove her fingers through his.  That reminded him.  “You need a new ring.  Do you have any preferences?”

“Something small?”  Belle requested.  

Gold nodded with satisfaction.  He’d thought her engagement ring was too ostentatious for Belle, and her request confirmed it.  Already they made a better team than she and Greg did.  “Would you like to come with me to pick it out or shall I surprise you?”

“Surprise me,” she said at once to his delight.  This was his first chance to buy her a gift, and he planned to impress her.  He’d select something dainty and vintage that she would love at first sight, a tangible sign that she’d made the right decision when she agreed to be his wife.

“And what about the wedding?  I’m sure you have ideas about that.”  If he’d learned anything from his first wedding, it was that women had been forming very strong opinions about every last detail since the day they were born.  Milah had been annoyed that he couldn’t afford to make all of her dreams come true, but Belle would have no such complaint.  

Belle looked puzzled.  “I never really thought about it.”

Gold chuckled.  “You don’t have to be shy.  We can do whatever you’d like.  A cathedral?  A castle?  Our own private island?”  He lived a comfortable lifestyle, but he was already certain that his money could bring him no greater pleasure than spoiling his wife.

Her next words brought him up short.  “Dad doesn’t travel well.’

He needed to stop forgetting that he was acquiring a father-in-law in addition to a wife.  To that end, he should meet the other man as soon as possible.  

Belle looked disquieted when he brought up the idea at the end of the night.  “May I escort you home?  I would like to meet your father.  And it seems only correct that we tell him the happy news together.”  It was late, but Belle had indicated that her father’s illness meant he kept less than conventional hours.

“He might be asleep,” she warned.

“If he is, I’ll take my leave until tomorrow.  Surely, you won’t deny me the pleasure of seeing my fiancée to her front door.”  He’d told Belle a great deal about his home, but he knew nothing at all about hers.  Besides, he was an old-fashioned man.  Now that Belle was promised to him, he planned to be quite protective of her.

“I…”  Belle closed her eyes, visibly steeling herself.  “All right.  It’s not much of a front door though.”

Any place that sheltered Belle would be pleasant to him.  Her very spirit permeated her surroundings.  This grungy hotel bar was paradise as long as she was in it.  Her home could be no different.

Soon, her spirit would warm and enliven his home as well, and the thought was so overwhelming that Gold didn’t dare focus on it.  In a matter of weeks, he would no longer live in a house that was too big and too cold.  Once Belle shared it, it would be exactly the right size.  

He had one last trial to face before that dream became a reality— Belle’s father.  “Lead the way.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gold frowned as Belle led him out of the Griffith and set off down the street instead of heading for the hotel’s parking lot.  “Your car?”

“I don’t have one,” she explained with a smile that looked nervous in the harsh glare of the streetlight above their heads.  “It’s not far— only about two miles.”

Now that Belle was his fiancée, not his bartender, Gold felt that he could walk on air, but he was well aware that attempting to walk two miles with his lame leg would quickly disprove that flight of fancy.  Nor did he relish the idea of walking two miles through Boston at three in the morning.  The knowledge that Belle apparently did just that after every shift didn’t rest well with him.  

“I’ll hail us a cab,” he decided, suiting action to word as he flagged down a passing taxi.

Belle didn’t argue, just slipped into the cab and scooted over to make room for him after he held the door for her.  “You’re a gentleman.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of her tone.  Her voice sounded light enough, but her eyes were shadowed.  “Indeed.”

He didn’t recognize the address that Belle gave the driver, but the other man didn’t question it.  Gold watched the scenery pass in silence, feeling constrained by the driver’s presence in a way he never had by the Griffith’s other patrons.  The hotel was in a neighborhood that radiated genteel poverty, a far cry from the flashier Luxe where Gold laid his head at night, but in just a few blocks, the homes grew more run-down yet.  

Before long, they drew to a halt in front of a crumbling tenement building that was two miles removed from the Griffith, yet light-years away in atmosphere.  “You live here?”

Belle’s smile was brittle.  “Home sweet home.”

Gold made certain to get the driver’s card when he paid the man and made equally certain to tip him well enough to ensure he’d return when called.  Otherwise, he’d never be able to catch another taxi in this neighborhood at this time of night.  Belle led the way inside without looking at him, making her way up a narrow, creaking wooden staircase until they reached a dimly lit hall and stopped in front of a door so flimsy that Gold suspected he could put his fist through it without even trying.  This place couldn’t possibly be safe for Belle.

A crash came from inside the apartment, confirming his fears.  Before he could catch Belle’s arm and insist she return to the safety of the taxi and then the Luxe with him, she lunged for the door.  “Dad!”

Gold followed a pace behind, finding not a band of thieves and murderers, but a large man in his sixties sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by bits of metal and wood, his mouth slack as he gazed at a pile of broken glass that might once have been a vase.  

Belle rushed toward him and dropped to her knees.  “Dad, are you okay?  Did you cut yourself?”

Her father waved her off with an impatient gesture.  “Don’t bother me now.  I’m working.”

Without so much as glancing at his daughter, he went back to piecing together bits of metal in an arcane way that Gold imagined made sense to him.  Belle bit her lip and looked away, her face going pale as she glanced through a doorway.  

With a soft cry, she jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.  A single step forward allowed Gold to watch as she darted into a tiny kitchenette and took a saucepan off the front burner, tossing its blackened contents into the sink before turning off the stove.  Apparently, her father had attempted to make himself a snack and forgotten that he was cooking.

As Belle took care of the burned food, Gold took a moment to look around the apartment.  There wasn’t much to see.  Beyond the living area and kitchenette, there was a tiny bedroom dominated by a double bed strewn with men’s clothing.  It seemed that Belle’s father claimed that space as his own.  The sagging couch in the living room must be Belle’s bed.

The apartment was dark and dingy, but scrupulously clean save for the bits and pieces that her father was currently attempting to assemble.  Belle, who deserved to be gowned in silk and living in a palace, lived in squalor.

Gold braced both hands on his cane to keep them from shaking at the revelation and leaned down to speak to Belle’s father.  “Mr. French?  My name is Diarmid Gold.  Your daughter has consented to be my wife.”

The other man nodded vacantly, never looking up.  “Yes, yes.  That’s nice.”

As blessings went, it wasn’t much.  Gold wasn’t entirely sure French even understood what he’d just said.  Perhaps another approach would be better.  “What is it that you’re working on?”

This time French did glance up, just long enough to give him a reproachful look.  “You’re distracting me from my work.”

“My apologies.”  

As Belle reentered the living room, a tumult of angry raised voices from the hall made Gold jump.  Belle didn’t flinch, not even when the sound crescendoed into the angry noise of flesh striking flesh.  “This is madness.”

Belle’s mouth tightened into a thin line at his muttered comment.  “This is what you signed up for.  If you’re having second thoughts—”

“No.”  Seeing how Belle had been living only made him more determined to follow through with his plan.  Gold wasn’t a sentimental man, but he wasn’t heartless.  He couldn't imagine abandoning anyone to live under these conditions, and this was _Belle_.  Belle deserved better than this, and he could give it to her.

Even so, they were going to have to make some changes to their plans.  “I’m not leaving you here another day.  You’ll come home with me when I leave Boston tomorrow.”

Belle folded her arms across her chest.  “I won’t leave Dad.  And I have to give two weeks’ notice at the Griffith.  And what about my lease?  I can’t just pick up and _leave_.”

“Of course you can.”  Enough money and a skilled lawyer meant that anything was possible.  Now, Belle had access to both.  

A sharp noise split the night outside the window, and Gold flinched.  Was that a gunshot or a car backfiring?  Either way, it was further proof that this situation was unlivable.  “This apartment isn’t fit for human habitation.  I’ll have my lawyer contact your employer and your landlord to tie up loose ends.  Your father will come with us.”

“This is my home!”  Belle looked outraged at his suggestion.

Frustration dissolved what little patience Gold had.  “This isn’t a home.  It’s a place you stay when you have no other options.  Now, you do.  Would you really prefer to stay in this hovel over an immaculately kept Victorian with a housekeeper and private grounds?”

Belle bit her lip and looked down at her feet.  “I did the best I could.”

Her small voice gave him pause.  Earlier tonight, Belle had agreed to marry him.  She was his fiancée, not a business rival.  Over the years, Gold had grown so used to playing the bastard that he’d nearly forgotten how to be a husband.

He’d better remember damned quick, or Belle was going to decide that shallow, boring Greg was the better option.  Stepping forward, he reached out to her, hoping that she would take his hand.  “I know you did, sweetheart.  You were in an impossible situation.  You had to do it all yourself, and you did.  You took care of your father all by yourself.  But you’re not alone any more.  You don’t have to do it alone.  You have me.”

With a whimpered cry, Belle ignored his outstretched hand and threw herself into his arms, clinging desperately.  “It’s been so hard.  I worked so _hard_ , but I never… I was so scared.”

Gold stole a glance down at Belle’s father who was oblivious to his daughter’s distress even though she was only feet away from him.  If that was the kind of emotional support Belle was accustomed to, it was no wonder that she had no idea how to react to someone who was trying to help her.  

“Hush, sweetheart.  It’s all right now.  I’m here now.  I’ll take care of everything.  I’ll take care of you.”  At his words, Belle sagged against him like all the strength had gone out of her body.  

“I hate this apartment.  It’s horrible,” she confided, her voice muffled by his tie.  “It was all I could afford.”

“You don’t have to spend another night here,” he promised.  “We’ll pack your things and call the cab driver.  How does a suite at the Luxe sound?  And tomorrow we’ll go home.”

Belle caught her breath, and when she looked up at him, the brightness in her eyes nearly dazzled him.  A moment later, the light faded.  “Dad’ll freak out if I try to make him stop working.  I can deal with it for one more night.  Tomorrow I’ll pack while you’re doing your thing, and then we’ll leave.”

The same protective streak that had rebelled at the thought of Belle going home alone reared its head.  If Belle was determined to spend the night here, he would stay with her.  She might have lived in this apartment for years without him to keep a watchful eye on her should her neighbors get out of hand, but the fact was that she did have him now.  Gold would not fail in his duty to her.

“We’ll deal with it together.  Tell me about your father.  What is it he’s working on?”  Gold managed to steer Belle to the couch, which was mercifully more comfortable than it looked.  

She rested her head on his shoulder as she looked at her father.  “He was an inventor before he had his stroke.  It was amazing what he came up with.  He was _so_ smart.”

Belle looked up at him as though she was begging him to believe her, and Gold nodded.  “I’m sure he was.”

“He’d spend hours tinkering in his workshop.  I think that’s what he’s doing— inventing.  He just can’t…”  With a shudder, she nestled closer to him.

Gold gave the other man another look, trying to assemble a mental picture of who French had been before his stroke took its toll.  While Belle hadn’t inherited her looks from her father, it seemed she owed her clever mind to him, and for that, Gold rather thought he could like French.  

Whatever his feelings for his future father-in-law, Belle clearly adored the other man if she was willing to live in squalor and work herself to the bone just to care for him.  They’d find a way to live together, the three of them.  Perhaps they could put together some sort of workshop for French, fill it with things he could tinker with without endangering himself.  His caretaker could present himself as an assistant of sorts, taking that burden from Belle’s shoulders while allowing French to maintain his dignity.

To his surprise, when he broached his idea of a workshop to Belle, she dissolved into tears.  “I apologize.  I thought he might enjoy it.”

“He’d love it,” she said, her voice ragged.  He could feel her damp face as she pressed it against his neck, and Gold grunted in surprise when Belle suddenly moved to straddle his lap, her full weight resting against his chest.  Despite the intimacy of their position, nothing about this moment felt the slightest bit sexual.  

Tentatively, Gold wrapped his arms around her.  “Are you all right?”

Belle lifted her head from his shoulder to look up at him, her eyes wet and shadowed with an emotion that Gold couldn’t identify.  Then she sighed and snuggled back into him.  “Yes.  Thank you for thinking of him.”

He was thinking of a great many things.  There were plans to make, and he needed to get Midas out of bed and earning his paycheck.  They needed to settle Belle’s lease, terminate her employment, and do something about the French family’s citizenship.  The house would need to be rearranged to make room for French’s workshop, and a caretaker needed to be hired.  There were a thousand things that needed to be done.  

Once the sun rose, there would be time to do them all.  For now, Gold simply tightened his grip on his soon-to-be wife and enjoyed the warm weight of Belle in his arms.  


	4. Chapter 4

Gold drummed his fingers against the Cadillac’s steering wheel as he glared at the imposing brownstone’s closed front door.  He’d been parked here for the past twenty minutes waiting for Belle to return from breaking off her engagement, and he was starting to lose patience.  How long did it take to give a man his ring back?

“Are we almost there?”

He glanced into the rearview mirror to see guileless blue eyes staring back at him.  Moe French had asked that question four times since they started this trip, and they hadn’t even left Boston yet.  

“We’ll be there soon,” Gold lied, doing his best not to let irritation color his tone.  Right now, Belle was face-to-face with her former fiancé, and if the man had any sense, he was no doubt trying to convince her to rethink the “former” part.  He should be at her side, and instead, he was stuck out here babysitting her father.

“Where are we going?”

It wasn’t the first time that question had been asked either.  According to Belle, her father had trouble with his short-term memory.  “We’re going to Maine.  You and Belle are going to live with me in my home there.”

All of the French family’s belongings were currently in his trunk, taking up a depressingly small amount of space.  The sooner Belle rejoined them, the sooner they could leave Boston behind in favor of starting their new life together.

“Maine…”  French mumbled the word like this was the first time he was hearing it.  “Someone lives in Maine.”

That statement was enough to get Gold’s full attention.  “You know someone in Maine?”  Belle hadn’t mentioned having friends or family in the state.  

“There’s a boy in Maine.  Belle likes him.”  Now that Gold was invested in the conversation, French seemed to lose interest in it, turning his head to look out the window at passing cars.

“What boy?” Gold demanded, but French didn’t seem to hear him.

He swallowed hard.  That bit of information put a different spin on things.  He’d hoped Belle had accepted him because she agreed that they’d be a compatible couple, but what if she’d just wanted to be closer to her lover?

He couldn’t be much of a lover, Gold assured himself.  Any man who allowed Belle to live in such deplorable conditions wasn’t even worthy to be called a friend.  Still, it bothered him that Belle hadn’t mentioned that her heart lay elsewhere.  He’d been clear that even though he didn’t expect her to love him, he still demanded her loyalty, and she hadn’t argued.  Of course, women didn’t always tell their husbands what they were thinking.  He knew that from experience.

And what the hell was _taking_ so long in there?

Just as he was preparing to lock French in the car and go retrieve his fiancée, Belle reappeared, her spine very straight as she descended the brownstone’s stairs and made her way to the Cadillac.  As she got closer, he noticed that her eyes were bloodshot, and the visible evidence of her distress short-circuited his suspicious musings.

“Let’s go.”  Belle said the words before she even had her car door closed.

Clearly, her former fiancé hadn’t made it easy for her, and Gold ground his teeth.  He couldn’t blame the other man for not wanting to let Belle go, but it was unbelievably crass not to accept a rejection with good grace.  To make a woman cry was shameful.  To make _Belle_ cry was obscene.

“What did he say to you?”  His cane was within easy reach, and he longed to use it on her former fiancé’s face.  

“Nothing!”  He wouldn’t have believed her even if her voice wasn’t pitched too high.

Gold just looked at her without making any movement to put the car into gear, and eventually his silence had the effect he’d been hoping for.  “He pointed out that there are names for women who sell themselves to the highest bidder.”  From her careful choice of words, he could tell that the other man’s language had been more colorful.

Belle’s former fiancé had called her a whore, and for that, he was going to pay.  

When he grabbed the handle of his cane, Belle grasped his wrist.  “Don’t.  Please.”

“No one is allowed to speak to you like that.”  He was impressed by how even his voice was when he wanted nothing more than to curse and roar.

“It doesn’t matter.  It’s just words.  Please, I just want to go.”  Belle adjusted her grip on him so that she was holding his hand and tried to smile, a pathetic thing that didn’t reach her eyes.

“It does matter.  You deserve better than that.”  Looking over her shoulder, Gold saw a curtain twitch in one of the brownstone’s windows.  They were being observed, and he snarled at their voyeur, torn between getting out of the car to teach him a lesson and kissing Belle senseless to show him just what he’d lost and who he’d lost it to.

In the back, French made a distressed noise, picking up on the tension in the car.  Belle squeezed Gold’s hand.  “It’s over now.  We broke up.  It doesn’t matter what he thinks because I’ll never see him again.”

That was almost punishment enough for his ill treatment of her.  Tempting as it was to use his cane on the other man, Gold had to admit that there was nothing he could do to the man physically that would hurt him more than knowing he’d lost Belle after coming so close to making her his wife.

“Diarmid, please take me home.”

It was the first time she’d called him by his given name, and Gold was unprepared for what the sound of it would do to him.  Few people had the privilege of using it.  He’d never cared for his name, and he hated the level of familiarity that being on a first name basis required, but on Belle’s lips, it sounded right.  

His anger faded as he brushed his free hand against her cheek, letting her warm skin soothe him.  “All right.  Let’s go home.”

“Thank you.”  Belle’s face softened, and when she leaned in to kiss his cheek, it was all Gold could do not to turn his head and capture her lips with his own.  He had to give her time though.  Belle had agreed to marry him for protection, not because she had feelings for him.  If he demanded more from her than she was ready to give, he would only push her away.

As soon as she had her seatbelt in place, Gold pulled onto the street, eager to put as much distance between them and Boston as he could.  Once, he’d hated leaving the city behind because it meant that it would be long weeks before he saw Belle again, but now she was his fiancée.  He could see her every day for the rest of his life instead of confining himself to texts about books and long distance chess.

They were almost out of the city before French broke the silence.  “Where are we going?”

“ _Maine_ , Dad.  We’re going to Maine.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Gold saw Belle shoot him an apologetic smile.  

“Are we almost there?”

“We’ll be there soon,” Gold promised.  Three hours from Boston to Storybrooke wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but if French had trouble with his memory, maybe he wouldn’t feel the time passing.  

“I’m sorry,” Belle whispered.

“It’s not your fault.”  She’d been honest from the start that she and her father were a package deal.  If it meant having Belle for his own, Gold would put up with a great deal more than repetitive questions.  Her father’s mind was ravaged and he seemed less than interested in Belle most of the time, but at least he wasn’t cruel.  That put him head and shoulders above Malcolm Gold.  Gold could live with that.

“I don’t know how he’s going to be once we get to your house,” Belle warned him.  “He doesn’t deal well with change.”

“Well, he’ll have you and he’ll have his project.”  All of French’s bits and pieces were in a box on the backseat next to him in case he got antsy during the drive.  If he could be content in that shabby apartment, Gold was certain they could find a place for French in the Victorian.

“I won’t let him bother you,” Belle promised.  “I’ll watch him.  We won’t interfere with your lifestyle.”

Gold frowned at her vow.  After years of living alone, he was used to having his life arranged a certain way, but that was no more than a habit.  Adding a wife to his life would certainly change things, and he welcomed those changes.  It would be nice to have someone to talk to.  He’d been alone for too long.  “I wasn’t planning to lock him in the basement.  He doesn’t bother me.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Belle mumbled, and Gold wasn’t entirely sure he’d been meant to overhear that remark.

She turned in her seat to face him more directly.  “I know Dad can be… trying.  I’m asking a lot of you just to take him in.  I don’t expect you to be a caretaker or anything like that.  I’ll do everything.  Just please be patient if it takes a while to figure out a routine.  It took him a couple of weeks just to get used to the apartment after we had to downsize, and that wasn’t even that big of a change.  He—“

“Belle.”

She cut off the flow of words with a gasp and sucked in a breath, giving Gold a chance to just look at her.  Her face was pinched, the skin around her eyes drawn tight with tension, and she looked more exhausted than their largely sleepless night justified.  She’d dozed for a little while near dawn, but woke to see him out when he left for his breakfast meeting.  Gold had been hoping she’d go back to bed since her father had fallen asleep on the floor, but now he was willing to bet she hadn’t.  “When’s the last time you had a proper night’s sleep?”

Her short laugh held no mirth.  “It’s been a while.”

“I can imagine.”  It was quickly becoming clear that since her father’s stroke, Belle had been devoting all of her energy to caring for him, leaving nothing for herself.  Based on what she’d just said, she planned to continue doing just that once they reached Maine, and he needed to derail that line of thought as soon as possible.

“We will figure it out,” he informed her, putting a little extra emphasis on the plural pronoun.  “If your father has trouble adapting, we will work with him.  I don’t expect you to do everything.  I would be a poor husband indeed to let my wife struggle while I went about my day whistling a happy tune.”

At that she laughed, the musical sound washing over him like a caress.  “I can’t picture you whistling.”

Pleased that he’d distracted her from her worries, Gold admitted, “I’m not sure that I can.”  He pursed his lips, managing to blow two tuneless notes.

Giggling, Belle tried herself, having even less luck than he did.  “I’m spitting on myself,” she muttered.

From the backseat came a warbling note as French attempted to whistle.  Gold glanced in the rearview mirror to see the man frown before licking his lips and trying again.  This time, a lilting little song filled the interior of the car until he ran out of air, and French smiled proudly at his achievement.

“Nice, Dad,” Belle praised.

“Not bad at all.”  French, it seemed, was full of surprises.

Some of the tension seemed to have lifted from Belle’s shoulders, and Gold reached out to pat her knee.  “Close your eyes.  We’ve still got two and a half hours to go, and you’ll feel better for a nap.”

For an instant, Belle looked tempted, then she shook her head.  “You’re doing so much; the least I can do is keep you company while you drive.”

“You have the rest of our lives to keep me company,” he reminded her.  “There will be enough to do once we get home.  Get some rest while you can.”

He turned the radio on quietly and called up a soft jazz station, hoping that the music would encourage Belle to nap.  In the rearview mirror, he could see French gently bobbing his head in time with the song.  

Belle bit her lip.  “If you need me for anything…”

“I’ll wake you,” he promised.  

She snuggled deeper into the seat and closed her eyes, a soft smile playing at her lips.  It took all of Gold’s self-control to keep his eyes on the road instead of on her lovely face as it relaxed in sleep.  The skin around her eyes smoothed out, her face losing its pinched look, and he’d done that.  Already, he was proving that she’d made the right choice when she agreed to marry him.

“Where are we going?”

Gold smiled tenderly at Belle’s slumbering form.  “We’re going home.”


	5. Chapter 5

We’re home.”

Gold spoke the words softly so as not to awaken Moe who’d drifted off an hour into the drive from Boston.  In the passenger seat beside him, Belle hadn’t moved a single muscle since he finally convinced her to take a nap, and as he parked the Cadillac in his own driveway, Gold shifted to face her, smiling at the picture she made.

With a teasing finger, he reached out to lightly tap her nose, hastily withdrawing his hand when Belle jolted like he’d given her an electric shock, her blue eyes opening wide as she jerked forward only to be restrained by her seatbelt.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” he soothed as she looked around wildly.

When her eyes lit on him, Belle slumped back in her seat with a noisy breath.  “Oh, it’s you.”

“Were you expecting someone else?”  His voice was a bit too sharp, and Gold took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.  When he left his home yesterday, he’d assumed he’d be returning to it alone as always.  Instead, he was currently accompanied by his fiancee and her father.  Although the alteration of his routine was a welcome change, it was also a massive one, and he couldn’t be the only one feeling its effects.  It made more sense to assume that Belle was simply discomfited by her nap and the upheaval in her life and not disappointed to find him at her side instead of the mysterious lover from Maine her father had inadvertently revealed the existence of.  

“I thought I was dreaming.”  Belle smiled shyly at him.  “But you’re real.”

Her words sent a thrill of pleasure through Gold.  She’d been dreaming about him, and discovering that they were actually engaged made her smile.  Perhaps he was worrying too much about this boy from Maine.  Whoever he was, _he_ hadn’t saved Belle from her life of worry and squalor.

It was time for Belle to see just what agreeing to be his wife had brought her.  Gold nodded at the view through the windshield.  “How do you like your new home?”

He’d deliberately parked at the far end of the long driveway instead of putting the Cadillac in the garage as he normally would to give Belle the best possible view of the Victorian.  When she turned to look, he watched her avidly, hiding his triumph as her eyes went wide at the sight of the house.  “You _live_ here?”

“No, _we_ live here,” he corrected, barely able to suppress a chuckle when her lips parted with astonishment.  

With the sun setting in the background, the sprawling house with its elaborate trim and pink exterior looked like something out of a fairytale, and it was completely inappropriate for a single inhabitant.  Gold had never planned to live there alone, but life had once had a bad habit of not working out the way he’d intended.  In recent decades, he’d had much better luck and never had that been more true than right now as he watched his fiancee take in every detail of the house.  

The Victorian was too large for one, but it was the perfect size for two, and if Moe French wanted to come along for the ride, there was plenty of room for him too.  Gold’s life, already perfectly organized, had just gotten better with the addition of his bride-to-be.

“It’s beautiful,” Belle whispered as though she was afraid that if she spoke too loudly, she’d break a spell.

“I think you’ll be very happy here.”  He didn’t voice a comparison to the hovel he’d rescued her from, but he didn’t need to.  Belle already had to be comparing the pathetic apartment where she’d awakened this morning to the splendor of the home where she’d be waking up every morning for the rest of her life.

As he put the car in gear to get them closer to the house, Belle turned around in her seat.  “Wake up, Dad!  We’re here!”

Moe French snorted, slowly coming awake.  “Where are we?”

“We’re in Maine.  This is where we’re going to be living now.  Look how pretty it is!”  Gold smiled to himself as Belle eagerly pointed out features of the house that she found attractive, calling French’s attention to the stained glass windows and private balconies.

For his part, French seemed noncommittal, but he didn’t protest when Belle coaxed him out of the car.  The three of them made their slow way to the front porch, stopping periodically so Belle could encourage her father to admire the landscaping.  It went against all of Gold’s instincts as a gentleman to allow her to carry her own bag, but with his cane, it was all he could do to manage his suitcase and French’s belongings.  French, on the other hand, carried only his box of odds and ends.  The sooner they hired more help, the better.

“Wow,” Belle mumbled as he escorted them inside, looking around the foyer as though she was in a museum.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” he said, knowing that his modesty would only make the house look more impressive.  His collection of antiques and objects d’art created an atmosphere meant to subtly intimidate his clients with the display of wealth.  Belle, on the other hand, had no need to be intimidated.  His money would work for her, not against her.

“Shall we take the grand tour?” he offered, frowning when Belle shook her head.

“I think Dad’s tired,” she demurred, quickly putting herself between French and an ornate cuckoo clock when the other man reached for it.

Her blue eyes silently pleaded with him, and Gold shrugged off his disappointment.  “Of course.”

Earlier in the day, he’d given his housekeeper orders to prepare a guest room for French, and it was time to see if the woman had earned her generous salary.  “Follow me.”

He had no experience with stroke patients, but there was something childlike about French, and that put Gold on slightly more steady footing.  He’d chosen the Blue Room to be French’s domain partly because it had its own en suite bath and sitting area, but mostly because it was accessible only by a hallway that went directly past Gold’s own bedroom door.  Should French wander, he would be able to tell.

“It’s bigger than the apartment,” Belle marveled when he showed her the room, pleased to see that Mrs. Potts had outdone herself.  Everything had been dusted, aired, primped, and primed to be a welcoming oasis.

“What do you think, Dad?” Belle asked as French looked around, a small furrow between his brows.

“When are we leaving?”

Gold bit back an angry retort when Belle rested a hand on his forearm.  This was the thanks he got?  Another man would have left French to rot in that hellhole apartment or demanded that Belle place her father in a nursing home.  Out of the goodness of his heart, he’d taken the other man in only to have his generosity thrown back in his face.

“Look at that window!” Belle chirped as she stepped away from him to take her father’s arm and guide him to the airy nook where Gold had arranged for a solid table to be placed for French’s projects.  “Just think how much light you’ll have during the day.  You’ll be able to get so much more work done when you can see properly.  And look at this bed!  Let’s see if it’s as comfortable as it looks.”

Gold braced both hands on his cane and watched as Belle gave her father a guided tour of his new home.  She bounced on the bed, gushed over the expansive bathroom, sprawled out on the sofa in the sitting area, and got French settled at the table with his box, waiting until his attention was taken by his project before turning back to him, her smile strained.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, although she probably could have shouted the words.  French wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to either of them.  “That’s what he asks whenever we go anywhere.  It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it, and I think it’s amazing.  This is… You’re wonderful.”

Her praise soothed his ruffled feathers.  “I tried to anticipate his needs.”

“You did,” she said empathically.  “It’s just going to take him a while to adjust.  He’s used to the apartment.  Change is hard for him.”

Privately, Gold thought that the pleasure of upgrading one’s living accommodations from an apartment one step removed from a slum to an immaculate private suite should outweigh any qualms about change, but Belle understood how her father thought.  “I understand.”

“That couch is _so_ comfortable.  Thank you.  I’m going to sleep so much better tonight.”  Her eyes shone at him, distracting Gold from her words for long moments.

When her meaning finally registered, he froze.  “This is your father’s suite.”

Belle nodded, uncomprehending.  “Right.”

Did she really think he was going to allow his wife to sleep on a sofa in her father’s room?  “You will share my room.”

Belle’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline.  “Oh!”

She didn’t look particularly pleased about the idea, and Gold pressed his teeth together hard as he inhaled slowly through his nose.  He thought he’d been quite clear that Belle was to be his _wife_ , not his ward, but perhaps not.  

He was an old man, doubtlessly less attractive than the boy from Maine Belle was so fond of, but Gold knew that she enjoyed his company, and she’d agreed to be faithful to him.  She’d embraced him enough over the last twenty-four hours to tell him that she didn’t find him physically repulsive.  That was enough to start.  Desire could grow over time.

Maybe that was the problem.  They’d known each other for a year and a half, but there was much they still didn’t know about each other.  It was disturbing to think that Belle might believe he was the sort of man who would demand that she open her legs to repay him.

“Your body is your own, and I will make no demands on you unless you choose to share yourself with me,” he said stiffly.  

Belle’s cheeks colored.  “No!  No, that’s not the problem.  I’m used to hearing him if he wakes up, you see, and this is a new place, and…”

Gold sighed in relief when he realized what was worrying Belle.  Mentally, he shelved the revelation that having sex with him was “not a problem” for a later moment when he would have time to examine it at his leisure and set to work solving Belle’s actual problem.  

A series of caretakers would no doubt be necessary.  They could have someone responsible for being with French during the day and someone else whose job would be to keep an eye on him at night.  That was the long-term solution, but they hardly had time to vet potential candidates tonight.  They needed a short-term solution until that long-term plan could be put into action.

“A lock on the door to keep him from wandering?” he hazarded, knowing before Belle made a face that the suggestion wasn’t the right one.

“I’m not locking him up like a zoo animal!”  Belle’s eyes flashed fire, and Gold held his hand up defensively.

“I’m just thinking out loud.  I intended no offense.”  

Belle sighed.  “I’m sorry.  I just… I _worry_ about him.”

Belle worried far too much, and Gold decided it was going to be his job to find a way to ease her burdens.  In the meantime, the best way to solve a problem was to understand what the problem was.  “What, exactly, are you worried about?”

“What if he wanders the house and falls?  Or gets into something?  You have such beautiful things, and if given half a chance, he’ll take anything apart to see how it works.  What if he turns on the stove and burns the house down?  What if he gets upset because he doesn’t know where he is?  What if he slips out and gets hit by a car.  What if—“

“I believe I understand.”  Gold hated to interrupt her, but Belle’s voice was growing increasingly shrill as she listed all of the dire things that could happen to Moe French if she wasn’t paying attention.  No wonder she looked so exhausted.  Even in her sleep, she must be on high alert should her father need her.

That level of loving care from child to parent was something that Gold had no personal experience with, but it touched on memories so old that they seemed to belong to another life.  “I think I have just the thing.”

As he ascended the stairs to the attic to find a box that had gone unopened for decades, Gold kept his mind firmly on the present moment.  For too long, Belle had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and now he was in a position to help her.  It was just a shame that she hadn’t chosen to confide in him sooner.  If she had, they could have been married months ago.

It was the work of minutes to find what he wanted, and as he returned to Belle’s side, Gold was greeted with a cheerful “You’re a genius!” before he even had the door to the attic closed behind him.

Belle stuck her head out of French’s room and beamed at the sight of the sleigh bells in his hand.  The leather strap bore eight large silver bells with a metal loop at the top designed to fit over a doorknob.  Should Moe French leave his bedroom in the night, they’d hear him.

Plucking the strap from his hand, Belle looped it over the doorknob and pushed the door to and fro, listening to the bells jangle.  French looked up from his project, smiling at the noise.  

“Do you approve?”  He could tell that she did, but Gold was suddenly hungry for her praise.

Belle’s eyes were as bright as her smile when she leaned up to kiss his cheek.  “It’s a _brilliant_ solution.  Thank you.”

The press of her warm lips against his skin made Gold feel as though he’d been well rewarded for his efforts, and the light in Belle’s eyes was better yet.  Already, the weight of her burdens was dropping away.

With the sleigh bells in place and French’s attention focused on his project, they finally had a moment to themselves.  “Come along, sweetheart.  Let’s take a look at your new home.”


	6. Chapter 6

Belle’s reaction to the house was everything that Gold could have hoped for.

He took great pleasure in her awestruck expression as he led her through her new domicile.  Although he was accustomed to the splendor of his abode, seeing it through Belle’s eyes made everything fresh and new again.  He _did_ have a lovely home.  Every antique was pristine and displayed to its best advantage.  Every piece of art demonstrated his exquisite taste, and nowhere was that taste more evident than in the addition of his new fiancee.  Her presence was the crowning touch that would make his home complete.  

“A far cry from Boston, wouldn’t you say?” he teased gently as he showed her the gourmet kitchen.

Belle glanced around, her breath shallow.  “I’m afraid to touch anything.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.”  Gold wrapped an affectionate arm around her waist.  “This is your home now.”

A noise from upstairs made her jump, but when it wasn’t followed by the jingle of sleigh bells, Belle relaxed.  “Keep telling me that.  It helps.  It’s just a house, right?  It’s just… big.”

“Just the right size for two— or three,” he amended when Belle shot him a sharp look.

“I’ll get used to it,” she promised.  “We lived in a nice house while I was growing up.  I had to sell it when Dad— it doesn’t matter.  Anyway, I’m house-trained.”

Her eyes sparkled when she made the joke, and Gold was enchanted.  “I’m certain that you are.”

Belle took a deep breath and glanced away, making him wonder if he’d been the only one who felt the tension of the previous moment.  “Do you have a schedule that you like to have things done?  Like, laundry on Monday and dusting on Tuesday— things like that?”

Gold frowned at her odd question.  “Why do you ask?”

“Having me and Dad here is going to be a big change for you.  I thought that if I could keep everything running the way you’re used to, it might help.”  She smiled ruefully up at him.  “And it’s a place to start until I find my feet.”

“Find your feet?” he parroted, feeling as though he’d missed something.  “None of that is your responsibility.  The housekeeper takes care of those things.”

Now it was Belle’s turn to frown.  “Well, yes, but now you have me.  You said you wanted a wife.  I assumed that cooking and cleaning fell under the heading of ‘wifely duties’.”

Gold shook his head in wonder at how completely she’d misconstrued what he wanted from her.  “I’m not marrying you so I can save money by firing my housekeeper.  I want a _wife_ , not a household drudge.”

“Oh!”  He wasn’t sure what to make of her expression.  He would have assumed she’d be pleased to learn that he didn’t expect her to be a maid, but Belle didn’t look entirely pleased.  Nor did she look displeased.  Nonplussed was perhaps the best description of her raised eyebrows and tightly-pressed lips.

“Belle?” he prompted, not quite sure how to ask what she was thinking.  That was odd.  They’d never had trouble talking to each other before.

“Sorry!”  She laughed a little.  “I was a million miles away.”

“Shall we continue our tour?” he offered.  Perhaps it was best to simply ignore the strange moment.

Belle looped her arm through his and smiled cheerfully up at him, setting his mind at ease.  “Lead on.”

She remained quiet as they resumed their exploration of the house, although she smiled at the sight of the chess game in progress on the board in his office, recognizing it as the one they’d been playing together through text message.  

“I look forward to having you across the board from me while we play,” he murmured.  

Belle’s eyes went glassy, and his throat closed at this sign of her distress.  A moment later, she blinked and all was right again, making him wonder if he’d imagined things.  

After that, there was only one room left, but Gold felt unaccountably nervous about broaching the subject.  Earlier, Belle hadn’t seemed entirely sanguine about his desire to share a bedroom with her, and for a moment, he wondered if it would be better to have her sleep in one of the guest rooms for the time being— until they knew each other better or until their wedding night.  Perhaps that would make her feel more comfortable here.

Even as he had the idea, Gold’s instincts rebelled at voicing it to her.  If he and Belle started their relationship in separate rooms, it would be all too easy to fall into the habit of going their separate ways at night.  This wasn’t a love match, and although he’d been clear that he wouldn’t pressure her for sex, he had no desire to find himself as nothing more than her roommate either.  If Belle was going to be his wife, it was important that they begin as they meant to continue, and that meant sharing a bed.

“Would you like to see our room now?  You’re probably eager to get unpacked.  Or would you prefer to eat dinner first?”  Gold was proud of the compromise he’d found.  If Belle wasn’t yet ready to face their room, he’d given her a graceful way to delay while still making it clear that come bedtime, she _would_ be sharing his space.

“I’d like to see your— our— room.”  Her mouth twisted into a rueful smile.  “Unpacking won’t take long.”

They’d left the bags in the foyer, and Gold shouldered hers while Belle immediately grabbed her father’s bag.  Upon reaching the second floor, she made a beeline for his room, and Gold didn’t miss her sigh of relief when they found him still bent over his self-imposed task.  

In a matter of minutes, she’d put Moe’s clothes into the dresser and his toiletries in the bathroom without her father even looking up to acknowledge her presence.  Gold leaned against the door, not sure how he felt about the sight.  Once again, Belle was slaving away to meet her father’s needs without so much as a thank you, but the bounce in her step indicated that she wasn’t displeased about it.  The sooner they hired a caretaker for Moe, the better.

Belle dropped a kiss on the back of her father’s bent head before leaving the room, and Gold’s hand tightened on his cane, the fierce pulse of longing taking him by surprise.  How long had it been since anyone showed him such casual affection?  Thirty years?  Longer?

He took a deep breath and willed the tightness in his throat to ease.  Belle was going to be his wife.  Soon enough, she would show him the same affection.  She might never be as devoted to him as she was to her father, but already she didn’t shy away from him.  All he had to do was be patient.

When he escorted her down the hall to the bedroom that they would share, Belle’s eyes lit up.  “This is perfect!  We’re not far away at all.  I was afraid you’d put him on the other side of the house from us.”

“Anyone entering or leaving your father’s room will have to pass our door,” Gold explained, and for a blissful moment, Belle clutched his free hand and squeezed.

“You thought of everything.”

“I try,” he said modestly, immediately realizing his mistake when he led her into the room.  He hadn’t thought to have the housekeeper clear any space for Belle here which would make unpacking somewhat difficult.

Belle glanced around the room with interest as he tried to see it through her eyes.  It was a bit too cluttered for comfort and uncompromisingly masculine in its organization, but those would be easy fixes.  Belle was certain to have her own ideas about what would constitute a pleasant retreat, and he wanted her to be comfortable here.  This was their place, their shared nest in a noisy world.

He shook off the romantic thought.  “Please feel free to rearrange.”  

Belle deposited her bag on the bed and promptly dumped out its contents.  Gold swallowed hard.  “Is that it?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.  “I haven’t exactly had the time or money to go on a shopping spree.”

The contents of her bag proved her point.  Beyond her work clothes, Belle owned next to nothing— some tattered nightwear, cheap, plain lingerie, and drugstore grade toiletries comprised the sum total of her belongings.  A surge of anger made his chest burn.  Had he known she was living like this, he would have proposed a year ago.  Belle deserved so much better than this.

“Tomorrow, I’ll have you put on my credit card,” he promised.  “You’ll be able to buy things that are more suitable.”

Belle’s spine stiffened.  “I’ll try not to embarrass you, Mr. Gold.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d done to justify her sharp tone.  “I didn’t mean to anger you.  I assumed you would enjoy the chance to buy yourself some pretty things.”

Belle rounded on him, her eyes flashing.  “You don’t have to buy me!  I already said yes.”

Gold was utterly out of his depth.  In his experience, women were usually very pleased when he allowed them to spend his money with abandon.  “Yes, you did.  I’m not sure why you’re so upset by the idea that I wish to provide for my wife.”

Shoulders slumping, Belle buried her face in her hands.  “I’m sorry.”

“Belle…”  Very carefully, he took hold of her wrist and tugged it away from her face.  “I meant no offense.”

She sighed.  “No, you didn’t, did you?  You’re just being generous.  Again.”

“Is that a bad thing?  Would you prefer me to be a miser?”  No doubt his business partners would describe him as such, but this was different.  As Belle’s husband, it was his duty and honor to provide for her.

“No, I just…”  For a moment, she looked desolate, then her chin lifted and her smile returned.  “Thank you.  Yes, I’d like to go shopping.”

“You could buy books.  As many as you want,” he suggested, not quite trusting her bright expression.  It was possible that Belle didn’t care for clothes, but he _knew_ she loved books.  Surely the thought of being able to buy whatever titles caught her eye would please her.  

Her face softened.  “Oh, don’t tell me that!  Your bank account couldn’t take the strain!”

“We’ll turn the downstairs into a library,” he promised rashly, too relieved to see a genuine smile on her face to care about the potential damage to his bank account.  Belle could buy fifty books a week for the rest of eternity without making an appreciable dent in the number of zeros.  

“It sounds like a dream come true.”  Belle glanced around his room— their room— like she was seeing it for the first time and gestured at her meager pile of belongings.  “Where should I…?”

“I didn’t think to have the housekeeper clear space for you.  I’m sorry about that.  Tell me where you want to put your things, and we’ll make room.”  Instead of being upset at his oversight, Belle smiled wider.

It didn’t take long to find a place for her things, but Gold enjoyed the process.  Somehow, it felt right to work side by side with Belle, even to complete such a simple task.  Already they were becoming a team, a couple instead of just two individuals.

Once the last skirt was hanging in the closet, Belle tucked her arm through his and led him back to the bed.  Gold’s heart flipped in his chest, but all she did was sit down on the edge of the mattress before indicating that she wanted him to join her.

“You said you didn’t want me to cook or clean,” she began.  “I feel like we should talk about what you _do_ want.”

Gold blinked.  He thought he’d explained this several times already.  “I already told you.  I want a wife.”

Belle waved off his words.  “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.  What does that look like to you?  What does your wife do?”

Bile rose in his throat.  In his experience, his wife drank to excess and brought other men home to fornicate in the marital bed.  Somehow, he didn’t think that was what Belle was asking about.  

He cleared his throat and tried to think.  Belle wasn’t Milah.  She would be a different kind of wife— a better wife.  Slowly, he tried to give voice to a nebulous mental picture of what that meant to him.  “You take meals with me.  You ask for my opinion about things and about how my day went.  You act as my hostess when I need one and accompany me to business dinners.  You pay attention to the things I might miss at work functions and laugh at of my partners and clients with me afterward.  You play chess with me in the evenings and rub my shoulders when they ache and help me pick out my ties.  You read to me when I’m ill—“

Now he was just getting soppy.  Gold snapped his mouth shut so fast that he nearly bit his tongue, feeling like he’d just rolled over and bared his throat to her.  Humiliation was churning in his gut even though he couldn’t say why.  Those were normal things to want, weren’t they?  Surely there were millions of husbands and wives who did just those things every single day without giving it a second thought.

Belle placed a gentle hand on his knee and squeezed.  Her eyes shone with warmth, and when he met her gaze, the cringing embarrassment faded away.  “I can do that,” she promised.

“Yes, well….”  Gold cleared his throat and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of his trousers.  “I knew you could.  That’s why I asked you to marry me.”

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there in silence before Belle spoke again, her voice light.  “You said something about taking meals together?  And earlier you promised me dinner.”

Gold started.  He’d been miles away, but if someone offered him a million dollars for his thoughts, he couldn’t have explained what he was thinking.  Now, his brain was working again.  Belle was hungry.

He stood and offered her his hand, quietly pleased when she took it and allowed him to help her stand up.  “Do you remember the way to the kitchen?”

Her gentle smile felt like sunlight on his skin.  “I think I can find it.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Gold envisioned taking his meals with Belle, he pictured the pair of them sitting together at a table set with exquisite china as they dined on an elaborate dinner prepared by the housekeeper’s capable hands and sipped wine from glittering crystal stemware.  The reality was proving to be somewhat different.

In deference to the fact that he didn’t yet know Belle’s tastes, he’d instructed the housekeeper to err on the side of simplicity— chicken marsala with mushrooms and fresh green beans.  When he retrieved the dish from the refrigerator to heat it, Belle took one look at the contents and blanched.

“Dad’s not going to eat that.”

“Excuse me?”  Gold paused, the dish balanced precariously in his hand until he deposited it on the counter.

Belle fluttered her hands.  “I’m sorry!  It looks great; it really does.  He’s just picky.  You don’t have any meatloaf, do you?  Just a frozen dinner would be fine.”

She darted around him to open the freezer and look inside, making a noise of distress when she failed to find anything as low-brow as a frozen TV dinner.  The housekeeper would no doubt have a heart attack at the very thought of keeping such a product in this house.

Gold set to work reheating their dinner as Belle opened cabinets, not quite sure how to feel.  She was digging through his cupboards like she had a perfect right to do so, and he found her level of comfort pleasing.  Already, Belle felt as though this was her home.  On the other hand, there was no need for her to do so.  Dinner preparation was a job for the housekeeper, not for his wife.  It was beneath Belle’s dignity to slave away at the stove to feed her father just because he refused to eat the meal Gold had provided for him.

Eventually, she pulled out a carton of eggs and a pan with a triumphant sound.  “I’ll make scrambled eggs.  Dad loves scrambled eggs.”

Making scrambled eggs was hardly a challenging task, but Gold hated the thought of setting a precedent.  He opened a certain drawer and pulled out a pen and a tablet that already had several notations on it.  “This is the housekeeper’s shopping list.  If there’s something you or your father want, just add it to the list.”

Belle gave him a grateful smile.  “That’s perfect!  I really appreciate how great you’re being with him.  It means a lot to both of us.”

Her easy praise sweetened Gold’s temper enough that he didn’t protest when Belle bypassed the dining room in favor of carrying their plates upstairs to her father’s bedroom along with a pitcher of lemonade.  So much for his dreams of fancy china and wine.  Oh well, it was only one night.  

“Dad, I brought you dinner!” she chirped as she bumped open the door to his room with her hip.

“Yes, yes,” her father muttered.  “Put it over there.”

“No, no,” Belle countered with an affectionate smile.  “Eggs are gross when they get cold.  Take a break and eat it now.”

When she waved the plate under his nose, French perked up, losing interest in his project.  With a smile, Belle poured glasses of lemonade for all of them and curled up cross-legged on the bed, her plate in her lap as she chatted with her father about what he was working on.  Feeling invisible, Gold jugged his plate, glass, and cane to take a seat on the sofa since French’s project had consumed the rest of the table.

He’d been right to insist that he and Belle share a bedroom, he decided as he took a moody bite of his chicken.  When Belle was in her father’s orbit, the other man consumed her attention.  If he allowed her to sleep in here, he would never see her.  The thought didn’t sit well with Gold.  Was it really too much to ask to want his wife’s focus to be on _him_?

Of course, they weren’t married yet.  Tomorrow, they would get the ball rolling on that.  Once Belle was tied to him with a marriage license and an iron-clad prenuptial agreement, he was bound to feel more secure about things.  Now, everything was in flux.  It was no wonder that his footing felt uneasy.  Gold was the sort of man who liked to have things settled.

At least when Belle was focused on her father, he knew she wasn’t daydreaming about the boy from Maine.  That was one comfort.  

As soon as French finished his plate, Belle put her own aside.  “Why don’t we get you ready for bed?” she suggested before he could go back to his project.

Gold frowned at the amount of food she’d left on her plate, but Belle didn’t give it a second glance as she ushered her father into the bathroom.  A few minutes later, he heard the shower go on.

Apparently, his presence was superfluous here.  Nettled, Gold finished his own meal and gathered up the plates and glasses, piling them on Belle’s tray to carry them back downstairs to the kitchen.  With his cane, the task was almost more trouble than it was worth.  

He put away the lemonade and placed the dirty plates in the dishwasher, but Belle’s plate gave him pause.  She’d been so busy talking to her father that she’d eaten barely a third of her own meal.  Gold knew enough about women to know that they often got odd ideas in their heads about food consumption, but Belle was already too thin.  He also knew enough about women to know that she was unlikely to appreciate him telling her that, so he placed her unfinished plate in the microwave.  Prompting her to resume eating would hopefully get the message across that he didn’t think she needed to watch her weight.

Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, Gold pulled out his phone and set to work composing a list of qualifications that he wanted French’s caretaker to have.  An internet search provided him with the name of a local agency that handled such things, and he emailed them his list with a satisfied click.  Belle, of course, would have final say, but at least they were one step closer to getting her some help.

“Diarmid?”  Belle’s voice echoed in the quiet house.

“In the kitchen,” he called back, the little domestic exchange making his stomach feel warm.

Immediately, he heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs, giving him just enough warning to give Belle’s uneaten dinner a blast from the microwave.  

“I’ve found the one downfall of this house,” she announced as she strolled into the kitchen.  “If you wanted to hide from me, I’d never be able to find you.  I didn’t have that problem in the apartment— Oh!”

She jumped as he pulled her plate out of the microwave and held it out to her.  “You reheated it.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of her tone.  “Aye.”

Eyes glassy, Belle ignored the offered plate in favor of wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him hard.  With one hand on the plate and the other on his cane, Gold couldn’t return the embrace, but it didn’t seem to matter.  Belle pressed her face against his neck and inhaled deeply before stepping back and relieving him of his burden.

“Dad’s in bed,” she explained in between bites of chicken that were disappearing at a rapid pace.  “If I want him to do something, I have to get him to do it when he isn’t working.  If he starts, he doesn’t like to stop, so I got used to working around his schedule.  I don’t know when I stopped bothering to reheat my own food.  This tastes _incredible_.”

It was such a small kindness, but Belle was looking at him as though he’d slain a dragon for her.  Gold’s heart ached for her.  “It was nothing.”

“It was nice,” she countered.  A small smile crossed her face as she finished her meal.  “You’re a good husband.”

For an embarrassing moment, Gold feared that he was going to cry.  “Yes, I am,” he agreed once he could trust his voice.  

Deftly, he took her plate and placed it in the dishwasher.  Just as he was about to suggest dessert or perhaps a nightcap, Belle yawned loudly and slapped her hands over her mouth with a look of mortification.

Gold chuckled.  “You’ve had a long day.  Bedtime.”  It was earlier than his preferred hour, but he’d gotten little enough sleep the previous night.  Besides, he was looking forward to seeing what it felt like to have Belle in bed beside him.

“I should take a shower,” Belle muttered as he led her back upstairs to their bedroom.  

“Do it in the morning.”  Gold wasn’t entirely sure if it was possible to fall asleep standing up, but if it was, he was quite certain that Belle would manage to do so.

When he nudged her into the en suite bath, she went without argument, and he had just enough time to change into his own pajamas before she shuffled back out wearing a baggy T-shirt and pajama pants with playful kittens on them.  Her hair was in a loose braid, her face shiny.  

There was nothing at all sexy about her appearance, but the sight of her warmed something inside of him.  This was Belle, the real Belle, and she was all his.  

“Which side do you sleep on?” she asked, eyeing the bed with interest.

“The left.”  

He watched as she pulled the covers down and fluffed both of their pillows, his eyes stinging inexplicably.  This was ridiculous.  Clearly, a good night sleep would do him a world of good too if he was going to start tearing up at the simplest things.

By the time he’d brushed his teeth and finished his nightly ablutions, Gold felt more in control of himself, and when he stepped out of the bathroom to see Belle lying under the covers on the right side of the bed, the sight did no more than make him smile.  Her eyes were already closed, Belle’s long day getting the best of her.

For a moment, he simply enjoyed the sight of Belle asleep in his bed before he slipped in next to her and extinguished the light.  Lying on his back in the dark, he could neither see nor feel her next to him, yet he was acutely aware that he wasn’t alone in bed.

“This is nice.”  Belle’s quiet voice startled him.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Just dozing.  I wouldn’t go to sleep without saying good night.”  Belle scooted closer and aimed a kiss at his cheek that landed next to his ear.  “Good night, Diarmid.”

Charmed by her gesture, Gold smiled into the darkness.  “Good night, Belle.”

To his surprise, sleep came easily.  It had been ages since he last shared a bed with someone, but he found Belle’s soft noises and little movements comforting instead of irritating.  It was nice not to be alone in the dark.

What could have been minutes or hours later, the sound of sleigh bells startled him awake, and for long, blurry moments, Gold had no idea what was happening.  Before he was able to clear his fuzzy mind, Belle was already out of bed and moving.  “I’ve got it.  Go back to sleep.”

Those words hit a cord somewhere deep in his memory that made his stomach curdle, and by the time he remembered when and where he was, he could hear voices coming from downstairs.

“I want to go home!”

French sounded distressed, and although Belle had told him to go back to sleep, he wouldn’t be much of a husband to leave her alone to handle her father should he prove combative.  With a groan, Gold dragged himself out of bed and yanked on his robe, following the sound of voices to the foyer where Belle had planted herself between French and the front door.

“We _are_ home, Dad,” she explained patiently, sounding like she’d already repeated the words several times.  “We couldn’t stay in the apartment any more, so now we live here.”

French turned distressed eyes on him as he descended the stairs.  “Who’s he?”

“That’s Diarmid.  I’m going to marry him,” Belle reminded him.

At that, French looked puzzled, but at least he didn’t seem opposed to the idea.  Gold would take what he could get.  “Why don’t you come back upstairs, Mr. French?”

French sniffed.  “Mr. French is my father.”

Belle chuckled at his protest, and even Gold had to smile.  “All right, then.  Moe.  Let’s get you back in bed.”

Moe shook his head.  “I’m not tired.”

“How about a snack?” Belle suggested, which earned her a grudging nod.

Belle linked her arm through her father’s elbow as she led him to the kitchen.  “Isn’t this house _amazing_?  Look how big it is!  We’re going to be so happy here.”

“When are we leaving?”

This time, Gold was able to let the question roll off his back.  “This is your home now, Moe.”

He wasn’t one for late-night snacks, and the housekeeper shopped accordingly, but Belle was able to rustle up a package of biscuits before putting the kettle on and preparing cups of tea for all three of them.  Her primary focus was on her father, but she hadn’t forgotten about him.  

She kept up a steady stream of chatter about nothing in particular, her own cup growing cold as the two men drank theirs.  Gold felt that he should probably do something about that, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how to soothe Moe.  Instead, he took mental notes about Belle’s chosen topics, promising himself that he’d be more help next time.  Tea at two in the morning wasn’t a ritual he’d ever wanted for himself, but if this was going to become a habit, the least he could do was allow Belle to drink her own tea while it was still hot.

As soon as Moe was finished, Belle placed their cups in the sink and coaxed him back upstairs, leaving Gold to follow.  While she put her father back to bed, he straightened out the covers and fluffed her pillow, the task feeling pleasantly domestic.

A few minutes later, Belle slipped into the room and tossed herself onto the bed with a sigh before wriggling under the covers.  “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” he assured her.  

“I just feel bad that he woke you up.  This probably isn’t what you had in mind.”  Belle squirmed a little before rolling onto her side, her back to him.  

Before he could be nettled at her choice of position, Belle scooted back, pressing the curve of her behind lightly against his side.  She was barely touching him, yet every fiber of his being was keenly aware of her warmth through his pajamas.

For a moment, he was tempted to spoon himself up behind her.  She might let him.  She might even snuggle closer should he wrap himself around her, and Gold could imagine it so clearly that he could almost feel the tickle of her hair against his face.

Perhaps another night he would risk it.  For tonight, their first together, it was enough that Belle was willing to be so close to him.  It was a first step.  “It’s no matter.  Get some sleep.  You need it.”  Even in the brief span of time they’d spent together, Gold was realizing that what Belle needed more than hot meals and designer clothes and books was sleep and lots of it.

“Good idea.  Night.”  Her voice was softly slurred, indicating that she was already more than halfway asleep.

Gold held himself perfectly still until he heard her breathing slow.  Then, with gentle fingers, he reached out and carefully smoothed a wayward lock of hair away from her face.  “Good night, Belle.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gold woke to the feeling of eyes upon him.

Instantly he was awake, but he remained still, his mind racing as he tried to figure out where he was and what was happening.  After a moment, he relaxed as his memory of the previous day returned, reminding him just who was in bed with him.

Belle smiled at him as he opened his eyes, and the sight of her mussed curls and sleep-flushed skin made all of the irritations of the previous day fade into nothingness.  He would chase Moe French around the house at two in the morning every day if it meant waking up to the sight of Belle in his bed.

“I’ve never seen you with whiskers,” she murmured as she traced one finger over his unshaven jaw.  “You’re prickly.”

Gold chuckled.  “So I’ve been told.”

A tap on the nose punished him for the dreadful pun, and he was just weighing whether it was really necessary to get out of bed and brush his teeth before availing himself of his fiancée’s delectable lips when the jingle of sleigh bells broke the silence.

“Dad wants breakfast,” Belle announced as she scrambled out of bed.  “Should I make something for you too?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Gold said stiffly.  Once again, Moe was stealing Belle’s attention from him, and his patience was wearing thin.  

Belle left the room without a backwards glance, leaving him to ready himself for the day.  By the time he’d showered, shaved, and dressed, Gold was once again in control of his temper.  The constant interruptions were frustrating, but temporary.  As soon as they hired caretakers for Moe, Belle would be able to focus on being his wife first and a daughter second.  

That knowledge allowed him to smile at the sight of Belle sitting at the kitchen island with her father, the other man talking with great enthusiasm around a mouthful of toast.  “Good morning, Moe.”

Moe looked at him as though he wasn’t quite certain who Gold was, but he nodded a greeting anyway.  Belle beamed at him.  “Good morning!”

She watched with interest as he prepared a cup of black coffee and a slice of toast with marmalade for himself.  “That’s it?”

“I’m not much for breakfast,” he explained as he joined the pair at the island.

“After that dinner, I was expecting you to eat— I don’t know— Belgian waffles and quail eggs and caviar on toast.”  Belle’s eyes sparkled at him.

Gold snorted into his coffee.  “That can be arranged if you’d enjoy it.”

“I wouldn’t know how to eat caviar if we had any,” she giggled.  “I can’t remember the last time I had something fancier than store-brand Frosted Flakes for breakfast.”

The idea made him shudder.  “I think it’s high time you learned to appreciate the finer things in life.”

Belle gave him a considering look, then she nodded.  “I think I might like that.”

There was an entire world out there that Belle had no experience with, and Gold looked forward to introducing her to it.  After years of slaving away caring for her father, she deserved to be spoiled, and he would take great pleasure in being the one to do it.  Instead of being a bartender and harried household drudge, she would be his pampered wife and never again have to worry about anything.  Gold didn’t believe in fairy tales, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit heroic at knowing how he’d rescued her.

“My lawyer will be coming by at ten to discuss matters,” he informed her.  The sooner they took care of all the details, the sooner he could set to work spoiling her.

Belle inhaled sharply.  “You work fast.”

Gold wasn’t sure how to interpret that.  “I look forward to making you my wife.  If you feel differently…”

He trailed off, letting the words hang in the air, and Belle immediately shook her head.  “No!  Not at all.  As far as I’m concerned, we can get married tomorrow.”

She was as committed to this relationship as he was, and the knowledge warmed him.  “Tomorrow might be a bit premature, but I agree that sooner is better than later.”  Once Midas settled all the paperwork, they could start making wedding plans.

As soon as Moe finished eating, Belle escorted her father upstairs, leaving Gold at loose ends.  He finished his breakfast and headed for his office, listening with one ear for any sign that Belle was returning.

It was nearly ten before he heard her tread on the staircase again.  When he came to meet her, he recognized the black pants and tailored white blouse as her work uniform from the Griffith.  Belle tugged on the hem of her shirt.  “Is this appropriate?  I don’t have much experience with lawyers.”

“You look lovely,” he assured her.

Belle’s smile was shy.  “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could greet him in your pajamas, and Midas wouldn’t bat an eye.  As my fiancée, you are above reproach.”  He had many fond memories of Belle clad in these clothes, but he still looked forward to taking her shopping.  She deserved to have a vast wardrobe of designer clothing at her disposal.

When Midas arrived, Belle greeted him with warmth, and Gold didn’t miss the lawyer’s nearly-imperceptible nod of approval.  He chuckled to himself when he realized that, until this moment, Midas had probably been fearing that he’d lost his head to some floozy in a midlife crisis.

“Let’s start with the basics,” Midas suggested once they were ensconced in Gold’s office.  He’d waved the lawyer into a chair before taking a seat beside Belle on the leather sofa, and next to him, he felt her stiffen when Midas continued, “If I’m correct, your student visa expired a number of years ago, and your father is here on an expired tourist visa?”

When Belle looked up at him, Gold took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  “Don’t worry, sweetheart.  Midas isn’t going to have you deported.”

Midas laughed at the thought.  “Of course not.  Gold would have my head.  I’m just making sure I have all the information.”

Belle smiled tentatively.  “In that case, you’re right.  My visa expired four years ago, and Dad was only supposed to be here for a month.”

“That won’t be an issue.”  Midas waved a careless hand.  “Once you’re married, your citizenship will be simple to sort out.  I’m assuming you’ll want duel citizenship?  Australia and the States?”

When Belle nodded, he jotted down a note.  “And the same for your father.  Gold, you’re sponsoring him, correct?”

“That’s correct.”  If Belle wanted her father to remain with her, he’d move heaven and earth to make that happen, no matter how inconvenient Moe’s existence was for him.

There were a few papers for Belle to sign, Midas making the process as painless as possible for her.  “That brings us to the prenup.  Belle, my understanding is that you are not bringing any assets into the marriage?”

Belle winced.  “No.”

There was no point in sugar-coating it, but Gold wished Midas had been a bit more tactful about Belle’s financial state.  “She’s bringing herself.  That’s plenty.”

A warm glow filled him at Belle’s grateful look, a look that changed to surprise when Midas handed her an envelope.  “As per Mr. Gold’s wishes, I’ve arranged for you to be added to his main bank account.  In that envelope, you’ll find a credit card, ATM card, and checkbook for your personal use.”

Delicate eyebrows lifted when Belle dumped the contents onto her lap, finding the specified items already emblazoned with her name.  “If you choose to take Mr. Gold’s name after your marriage, I’ll have the cards reissued with your married name.”

“Spend as much as you like,” Gold urged.  “If you’re planning to make a single purchase of more than twenty thousand dollars— a car for instance— I would appreciate it if you’d discuss it with me first though.”  Belle didn’t seem like the kind of woman who’d run out and buy a summer house in Prague and a Porsche without mentioning it to him, but better safe than sorry.  Not that he’d necessarily deny her.  He’d simply make certain she got a good deal.

“Holy crap,” Belle muttered, words he wasn’t certain he was meant to overhear.  

Midas turned his attention to another stack of papers.  “In the event of divorce, both parties will retain the assets they brought into the marriage.”  He gave Belle an apologetic look.  “Should you choose to divorce Mr. Gold, you will be permitted to keep any personal items procured during the marriage— clothing, jewelry, things of that nature.  Mr. Gold will retain possession of all vehicles and real estate.  You will not have to reimburse him for anything spent during the marriage, but there will be no spousal support or support for your father.”

If Belle had harbored any thought of divorcing him and suing for alimony, the agreement he’d written with Midas short-circuited any chance of that.  It was a ruthless arrangement.  Should Belle choose to divorce him, she would be left with nothing save for her personal effects, and pawning those would only last her so long.  If she wanted to maintain a decent standard of living, the price was clear— she had to remain his wife.

Gold watched out of the corner of his eye as the blood drained out of Belle’s face.  She was an intelligent woman, and they’d made a deal.  She was smart enough to know better than to kill the golden goose, but he had to admit that she looked disturbed by Midas’s cold-blooded explanation of what would happen in case she decided to divorce him.

“Excuse me.  I think I hear Dad.”  

Gold heard nothing, but Belle fled the room like she feared for Moe’s life.  He and Midas sat in silence for long minutes until she returned, her eyes bruised and her spine very straight.  As she resumed her seat, she turned to look at him.  “All right, that’s what happens if I divorce you.  What if you divorce me?”

Her words caught him off guard.  “What?”

Belle lifted her chin defiantly.  “I quit my job, gave up my apartment, and rejected a marriage proposal when I agreed to be your wife.  What guarantee do I have that you won’t get tired of me in six months, file for divorce, and leave me and my father penniless?”

The thought that he might reject her was ridiculous.  “I have no intention of divorcing you.  I told you that as far as I’m concerned, this is forever.”

Cool blue eyes locked on his.  “And I agreed with you.  I promised you forever, but you still want me to sign that paper.”

“I believe in preparing for all eventualities.”  There was a time he hadn’t bothered with such things, and he was still paying for it decades later.

Belle gave him an ironic smile.  “Then we should prepare for the eventuality that you decide to divorce me.”

She’d trapped him with his own words, and Gold wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified.  Either way, she’d won.  He looked to Midas, whose face was utterly impassive.  “If I divorce you, I will buy you the home of your choice, continue to cover your father’s medical bills, and pay you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year maintenance until you remarry.”  

He glanced at Belle.  “If that suits?”

She folded her hands primly in her lap.  “Yes, that will be fine.”

Gold was willing to swear that Midas’s mouth twitched.  “I’ll make the requested changes.”

At Gold’s pointed look, he cleared his throat and turned to the next page of the document.  “Should the two of you have any children, custody will be split fifty-fifty upon the dissolution of your marriage.  Belle, if you choose to relocate more than seventy-five miles from Mr. Gold’s primary residence, full custody will revert to him.”

As Gold stared at his hands, he could feel Belle looking at him.  “Do you want children?”

His throat tightened at her question.  Part of him longed for a child with Belle, a second chance to do things right.  Another part of him wanted to vomit at the very thought.  “It’s important to prepare for all possible outcomes.”

It wasn’t an answer, but to his relief, Belle didn’t press the matter.  “Fifty-fifty seems fair.  I agree.”

“And that brings us to the final matter,” Midas announced, clearly glad to be changing the subject.  “For the duration of your marriage, Mr. Gold will cover all the costs of caring for your father at home for as long as the two of you agree feasible.”

At Belle’s look, Gold clarified.  “I can afford individualized medical care indefinitely, but there might come a point when in-home care can no longer meet his needs.  While I would like my opinion to be considered, the final decision is yours alone.  He’s _your_ father.”  

Belle’s throat moved as she swallowed hard.  “That’s in the prenup?  That I have final say on all decisions concerning him?”

“That’s the gist of what it says, but I can add that direct language if you’d like,” Midas offered, looking to him for approval.

Gold nodded.  “Please do.”

Midas jotted down another note, then reviewed what he’d written out loud.  “All right.  I’m going to alter the language to make it clear that Belle has final say over her father’s care and add the section detailing the maintenance you’ll receive should Mr. Gold file for divorce.  Is there anything else?”

“I think that’s everything.”  There was no such thing as a risk-free marriage, but with the prenup, theirs would come as close as possible.  The mere fact that it existed should be insurance against it ever being needed.  Belle’s boy from Maine might be young and handsome, but he couldn’t offer her the kind of lifestyle Gold could.  She’d be a fool to walk away from a life of ease and security for something as transitory as love, and Belle was not a fool.

“I’ll return later this afternoon with the amended document for your signatures,” Midas promised before gathering his things and rising.

Once they’d escorted the lawyer to the door and said their goodbyes, Belle moved to sit on the staircase, looking as though she didn’t have the strength to even walk to the living room to sit on a proper chair.  Gold hesitated, standing in front of her.

“You seem… upset.”  Even as he said the word, he realized it was wrong.  Belle didn’t look upset; she looked tired— terribly tired.

She leaned back against the bannister, most of her attention focused on the ceiling.  “Would you still marry me if I refused to sign that prenup?”

Bile rose in Gold’s throat.  “Are you already planning to divorce me?”  If she really intended for their marriage to last forever, there was no reason not to sign.  That she was hesitating said much about her intentions.

Clear blue eyes met his.  “Are you planning to abuse me or reveal that you’re a serial killer?”

“Of course not,” he denied at once.  The second half of that question had to be a joke, but the first… He tightened his grip on the handle of his cane, offended that she even needed to ask.  Belle should know him better than that by now.

Her gaze dropped away as Belle sighed.  “No, I know you won’t.”

Her words only went so far to soothe him.  “What are you asking me?”

She shifted, scooting closer to the bannister, and patted the seat beside her, inviting him to sit.  After a moment’s deliberation, Gold joined her.  “You were married before.”

It wasn’t really a question, but he answered it anyway.  “Aye.”

“And you said it ended badly.  You’re divorced, right?”

“Yes,” he agreed, not sure where this line of questioning was going.

“Did you have a prenup for your first marriage?”

“No,” he growled, “And I’ve regretted it every day since.”  If he’d had the sense to make Milah sign a prenup, how different would his life be today?  It didn’t bear thinking about.  He’d made his mistakes, and now he had to live with the consequences of his own stupidity.

Belle closed her eyes and nodded as though he’d said something significant.  “I understand.  What do you think the key to a happy marriage is?”

The random change of subject caught him off-guard, but there was only one possible answer.  “Honesty.”  If MIlah had ever been honest about her intentions, things could have been so very different.  Of course, if she’d been honest from the start, he never would have married her to begin with.

“That’s a good one.  I would say trust.  Trust and empathy.  It’s important to try to see things from the other person’s point of view and always give them the benefit of the doubt.”  Belle looked at him closely, trying to gauge his reaction.

Trust wasn’t something that came easily to Gold, but there was something about Belle that engendered it.  “I do trust you.  And I will always be honest with you.”

He hadn’t realized how tense Belle was until the line of her shoulders relaxed.  “I believe you.  I’ll be honest with you too.”

Gold hoped that meant that she’d tell him about her mysterious lover, but instead, Belle stood up, waiting until he was securely back on his feet before turning to go upstairs.  “I’m going to go check on Dad.  When Midas comes back, I’ll sign the prenup.”

It was a victory, but it didn’t feel like one until she turned and leaned down to kiss his cheek.  “We’re going to be okay.”

She said the words so confidently that Gold had no choice but to believe her.  His second marriage would be nothing at all like his first.  With Belle at his side, he had a chance for something he’d thought forever lost to him— happiness.


	9. Chapter 9

To Gold’s relief, Belle signed the prenup without hesitation when Midas delivered the revised document early that evening.  It was the only thing about the afternoon that went well.

Despite Belle’s best efforts to appease him, Moe was proving to be less than agreeable to his new surroundings.  The jingle of sleigh bells provided the soundtrack to the afternoon, distracting Gold from the paperwork he was attempting to complete.  Even shutting his office door failed to fully muffle the sounds of Moe’s increasingly frantic demands to be taken home.

Although Gold tried to be of assistance, Belle banished him to his office once it became clear that his presence only agitated Moe more.  Giving up on his work as a lost cause, Gold leaned back in his office chair and winced at the sound of a crash.  Hopefully that wasn’t anything irreplaceable.  

This wasn’t at all how he’d pictured his life with Belle.  He’d imagined long, indulgent meals, chess games, and in depth conversations about literature.  Instead, he felt like he’d barely had the chance to talk to her since they started their cohabitation.  She’d tried to tell him that her father could be difficult, but he’d had no concept of what that really meant.  No wonder she looked so wrung out.  He could feel his own blood pressure rising, and he wasn’t even interacting with the other man.

At least there was one thing he could do.  Earlier, the agency had sent him information packets on their available caregivers.  Belle would want to make the final decision herself, but he could sort through and identify the ones who seemed to be the best fit for Moe.  The sooner the other man became someone else’s responsibility, the better.

He was less than a third of the way through the information when the door to his office creaked open.  When Belle’s pinched face peeked in, he waved for her to join him, and she brightened a little as she dragged herself to the sofa and collapsed with a groan.  

“Were you terribly attached to that red and blue porcelain bowl in the living room?” she asked, her question directed at the ceiling.

“The Imari?”  

Belle winced.  “That sounds expensive.”

It was.  The bowl was a rare piece of decorative art from the middle Edo period, and Gold had considered the two thousand dollars he’d paid for it to be a good deal.  At least it wasn’t his favorite piece.  Perhaps he would be wise to put the things he would truly hate to lose into storage until Moe had settled in.

“Not terribly attached, no.”

Belle scrubbed her hands over her face.  “Maybe I can glue it back together.”

She sounded so miserable that he had to do something.  Gold rose from his desk chair and went to the cabinet where he kept his liquor.  Taking out the crystal decanter of Scotch, he poured a healthy swig into a glass and handed it to Belle.  “Don’t worry about it.  It’s just a bowl.”

For a moment, she looked at the glass in her hand like she’d never seen alcohol before, then she downed it in a single gulp, a criminal way to treat fifty year old whiskey.  She licked her lips.  “That’s _good_.  Mostly I just pour it.  I can’t remember the last time I actually had a drink.  Maybe college?”

Gold chuckled at her rambling and poured her another glass, relieved that she drank this one a bit slower.  “I don’t think the Griffith stocked anything like this.”  

“It’s expensive too, isn’t it?”  Belle sighed.  “Did _anything_ in this house cost less than a hundred dollars?”

He was reasonably certain that was a rhetorical question.  “You’ll get used to it.”

“Something did!”  She sat straight up, her eyes sparkling.

“What?”

“Me!”  She dissolved into giggles as she tugged at her blouse.  “Three bucks at the thrift store.”

Gold wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.  He settled for resting a faux-scolding finger on her lips to silence her.  “Miss French, you’re drunk.”

She nodded, her eyes huge.  “I’m drunk,” she whispered like it was a secret.  

A moment later her brow furrowed.  “Why am I drunk?  I’m a good drinker.  I could outdrink everyone in my freshman dorm.”

“That was years ago,” he reminded her, relishing this tiny glimpse of her past.  Once, Belle had been the typical partying college student, and he longed to see more of her playful side.  There had been precious little chance for her to just have fun since her father’s stroke, and it was time to remedy that.

Before they could do anything of the kind, she needed to sleep it off.  Taking hold of her legs, Gold lifted them onto the sofa, and Belle looked puzzled when she found herself suddenly lying down.  As she blinked owlishly, he covered her with an afghan.  “You’ll feel better after a nap.”

Her eyes were already drifting closed, but even so, she found the strength to protest.  “Dad…”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Gold promised.

Instantly, her body relaxed, and her display of trust warmed him.  A tiny snore escaped her, a sound he found more endearing than annoying, and Gold shook his head at himself.  He had it bad if even Belle’s snoring entranced him.

A jingle of sleigh bells shattered the moment.  With a groan, he left the room, heading for the second floor.  As he reached the living room, Gold cursed the limp that slowed him down.  Moe was already halfway down the stairs.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he reminded the other man.

Moe fixed accusing eyes on him.  “You!  You stole it!”

Gold stopped at the foot of the stairs and folded his hands on his cane, refusing to feed into Moe’s paranoia with a denial.  “What did you lose?”

“I didn’t lose it.  You _stole_ it!”  Spittle flew from Moe’s mouth as he aimed a finger at the center of Gold’s chest.

Much like a small child, Moe lived in his own reality.  Pointing out that Gold had been nowhere near his room in order to steal something would do no good.  Moe’s world was run by emotion, not logic.  “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I’ll help you find it.”

“Give it back!” Moe roared.

Gold met the other man’s eyes and spoke with icy precision.  “I can afford to buy fifty of anything I might want.  Why would I demean myself by stealing something of yours?  I will help you find what you’re looking for, but you must stop shouting.  Belle is trying to sleep.”

If Moe continued to rant, he might wake Belle, and she needed her rest.  Gold had had quite enough of watching her sacrifice her own health to meet her father’s needs.

As he’d hoped, the even tone seemed to cut through Moe’s rage.  The other man blinked at him.  “Belle?”

“She’s asleep.  She’s had a long day.  You don’t want to disturb her, do you?”  He was taking a chance by reminding Moe of his daughter’s existence, but Gold hoped that the latent parenting instinct to make certain one’s child was always taken care of would earn Moe’s cooperation.  If Belle loved him so much, the man must have been a decent father at some point.  Surely those instincts were still inside of him somewhere.

“Belle’s a good girl.”  Moe waved a warning finger at him.  “You be quiet and let her sleep.”

Gold swallowed a laugh.  “I will do that.”

It wasn’t much when it came to common ground, but if both of them were concerned for Belle, it was a start.  That enabled Gold to be patient when Moe ignored his suggestion that he go back upstairs and rest in his room.

“I’m not tired.”

“Then why don’t we look around?  Perhaps you’ll find what you lost.”  If nothing else, by escorting him around the house, Gold could hopefully prevent Moe from breaking anything else.

It was easier said than done.  Moe was a magpie, attracted to anything new and shiny, and it seemed that the more fragile and valuable a piece was, the more determined Moe was to get his hands on it.  No wonder Belle constantly looked exhausted.  Keeping Moe out of trouble was as difficult physically as it was mentally.

When Moe’s attention landed on a cuckoo clock, Gold gave up.  He’d purchased it on a whim during a business trip in Germany, and it didn’t really fit in with the decor anyway.  Besides, if Moe destroyed it, he knew a skilled clockmaker in Oregon who’d be able to repair the thing.

With one hand, he lifted it off the wall and presented it to Moe, who took it as though Gold was giving him jewels.  “Yes…” he mumbled as he turned the clock over in his hands.  “This will help.  This is what I need.”

When he turned to take the clock upstairs, Gold kept pace with him with difficulty.  Moe moved surprisingly fast for a man of his years.  “What is it that you’re working on?”

“Perpetual motion.  I’m _almost_ there… so close…”  Moe’s voice rang with conviction, and for a moment, Gold’s throat ached as he caught a glimpse of the brilliant inventor contained within the ravages of Moe’s damaged mind.

Once Moe was settled at his work table, Gold lingered for a moment, watching him take the clock apart, exclaiming over its components with sounds of quiet delight.  Satisfied that he would have plenty to keep him busy for the time being, Gold drew the door shut and returned to his office.

Belle was exactly where he’d left her, her face scrunched against the sofa’s armrest.  With an indulgent smile, Gold brushed his fingers over her hair, jumping back when she suddenly jack-knifed into a seated position, her eyes wild.  “ _What_?  I’ll do it!  I’ll do it!  Just…”

She glanced around the room, blinking rapidly until her gaze lit on him.  “Mr. Gold?”

“Diarmid,” he corrected.

Belle sagged back.  “Sorry.  I sort of forgot where I was.”

Gold claimed the seat beside her and tentatively wrapped his arm around her, pleased when she immediately leaned against him.  “Enough Scotch will do that.  I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She turned her face against his shoulder in an attempt to hide her blush.  “Did I really pass out after two drinks?”

“Mm-hmm.”  He tickled her side.  “You’re a cheap date.”

“Oh God…”  Belle’s shoulders shook with giggles.  “I’m sorry.  I’m not much fun.”

Before he could protest, she jerked her head up, nearly catching his nose.  “Dad!  Did he…?”

“He’s happily occupied taking a clock apart.”  At Belle’s distressed look, he sought to reassure her, “That I gave him for that exact purpose.  And he was most insistent that I be quiet and not wake you.”

When her eyes went glassy, Gold wished he’d kept that information to himself, but the beautiful smile that bloomed on her face a moment later assuaged his fears.  “He’s still in there.  I know he can be difficult, and he’s not the man he used to be, but my dad’s still in there somewhere.”

Gold cleared his throat, uncertain how to respond.  “It’s nice that you two are so close.”

It was a tepid reply at best, but Belle nodded happily.  “Are you close to your parents?  I’ve never heard you mention them.”

“They’re dead.”  When Belle’s face fell, he regretted his harsh words.  Modulating his tone, Gold tried again.  “No, we weren’t close.  I don’t mourn them.”

If he’d had two good legs, he would have danced a jig on his father’s grave, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”  Belle bit her lip, clearly casting about for something else to say, and Gold headed her off at the pass.

“The eldercare agency sent me some information on their available caretakers.  Would you like to look at it?”  Caring for Moe was a full-time job, and Belle’s time could be better spent elsewhere.  

For a moment, Belle hunched in on herself as though he’d attacked her, then she sighed and nodded reluctantly.  “You’re right.  I do need help.”

“I’ll forward the information to you.”  He’d planned to draw up a short list for her approval, but this was better.  The more they could do together, the more their relationship would solidify.

After he did as promised, Belle took out her phone to peruse the information, her brow furrowed as she read.  Gold divided his time between studying the small screen and her face, taking note of her reactions.  Each potential caretaker, even the ones he’d found promising, earned a wrinkle of her nose in distaste or a tiny shake of her head.  Belle, clearly, was going to be hard to please.

“This one,” she said unexpectedly, zooming in on a photo of a man Gold had dismissed without reading more than his name— T. Dove.

Mr. Dove had the face of a street thug, but Belle was nodding her approval.  “He has kind eyes.”

Considering the man’s Neanderthal brow ridge, Gold couldn’t even _see_ the man’s eyes in the black and white photo.  However, the prenup had made clear that Belle had final say about such matters, and it couldn’t hurt to interview him.  “I’ll put him on the list.”

“It says he specializes in art and music therapy.”  Belle tapped the phone’s screen.  “That seems like a good fit for Dad.”

Based on what he knew of Moe, Gold was inclined to agree.  Several of the other caretakers had similar specialties, and by the end of their review, they’d identified six potential candidates.  “I’ll contact the agency to arrange for interviews.”

“Thank you.”  Belle’s smile was small, but genuine.  “Maybe they could help him.  Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

He’d been thinking of Moe’s caretaker solely as someone who could get the other man out from under his feet, but their interaction this afternoon had changed his mind.  Right now, Moe was a shell of his former self.  If his caretaker could help him regain even a tiny fraction of the man he’d once been, that would be a wonderful thing for Belle, who must miss her father, even though she saw him every day.

He could give Belle anything she wanted save for her father’s health, and Gold swallowed a sigh when he realized that was probably the only thing she truly valued.  No matter how much money he made, it never seemed to be enough when it counted.

“Diarmid?”  Belle’s soft voice derailed his dark thoughts.

“Sweetheart?”

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “We promised to be honest with each other,” she began, her tone hesitant.

Bile rose in Gold’s throat as he wondered what sin she was about to confess.  It had something to do with her lover in Maine, no doubt, and he was torn between cutting her off so he didn’t have to hear how very short he fell of his rival and demanding that she tell him absolutely everything so he knew exactly what he was up against.

“We did, yes.”

“I was wondering…”  She bit her lip, a gesture he found charming despite his disquiet.  “Is there a reason that you haven’t kissed me?”

It was the last thing in the world he’d expected her to say, and as he gaped at her, some of the nervousness faded from Belle’s face.  “I… I wasn’t sure that you wanted me to.”

As explanations went, it was weak, but Belle lit up like he’d said something profound.  “Oh good.  I was afraid you didn’t want to.  I mean, you asked me to marry you and wanted to share a bed, so I assumed you were attracted to me, but then you didn’t do anything, and I got nervous.”

“You _want_ me to kiss you?”  Yesterday, Belle had indicated that she had no compunctions about sex, but this felt different.  She wasn’t just agreeing to fulfill her marital duties as part of their arrangement— it sounded like she welcomed his attentions.

Her eyes sparkled.  “Well, we _are_ engaged.  It would be kind of awkward if we got to the ‘You may kiss the bride’ part without practicing first.”

“They do say that practice makes perfect.”  

Gold was scarcely aware of what he was saying.  All of his attention was focused on Belle.  She was only inches away, allowing him to see each individual eyelash as she peeked up at him through them.  Her head was tilted back, her lips softly parted, and had she handed him an engraved invitation, Belle couldn’t have made her wishes more clear.  She wanted him to kiss her.

Slowly, in case she should change her mind, Gold rested his hand on the side of her throat, his own heart leaping when he felt her pulse beating beneath her skin.  To cover the sudden flare of nerves that left his fingers trembling, he caressed her jaw with his thumb, feeling Belle lean almost imperceptibly into his touch.

When he moved to brush his lips against hers, Belle met him halfway, and before he realized what was happening, their lips were pressed together far harder than he’d intended.  When he moved to pull back, she made a breathy noise and reached up to tangle her fingers in the ends of his shaggy hair, driving all thoughts of breaking the kiss out of Gold’s mind.

Belle’s lips were soft and warm beneath his own, the taste of Scotch clinging to them from her earlier drink.  Never had the liquor tasted better.  Craving more, Gold took her bottom lip between his own to suck gently, and Belle pressed herself closer, her fingers tightening their grip on his hair.

Suddenly, she jerked back, and Gold released her at once, wondering what he’d done wrong.

“Sorry!”  Belle gave him an abashed look.  “I didn’t mean to pull your hair.  I’m a little out of practice.”

The thought that she believed she could do anything he wouldn’t enjoy made him laugh out loud.  Taking hold of Belle’s hand, he guided it back to his hair.  “Pull all you like.  I consider it a compliment.”

“Oh, it was.”  Her blue eyes were dark and a little dazed, and Gold couldn’t resist lowering his head to steal another kiss, shocked by the way Belle immediately melted into him, her plush lips parting softly beneath his.  

Gold wasn’t certain how long he availed himself of her delectable mouth before the jingle of sleigh bells forced them apart.  

“Dammit, Dad…”  Belle mumbled, looking cross with her father for the first time.  

Even Moe French couldn’t put a damper on Gold’s good mood.  “We can always have another practice session later.”

The look Belle gave him made his blood run a little hotter.  “I’m going to hold you to that,” she threatened.

She leaned down to press a firm kiss to his lips before going to check on her father, leaving Gold where he was.  Yes, he could foresee a great many practice sessions in their future.  Once they’d arranged for a caretaker for Moe, they could spend entire days honing their technique, and once they’d perfected it, they could move on to perfecting other things as well.  

Gold smiled senselessly up at the ceiling as he imagined what kinds of lessons he and Belle could teach each other.  Forget the long, indulgent dinners, and let the chess set in his office gather dust.  As far as he was concerned, there was no better way for the two of them to spend their time than in practicing this art.  

After all, practice made perfect, and he was nothing if not a perfectionist.  


	10. Chapter 10

Dove’s picture failed to prepare Gold for just how _tall_ the man was.

He was a small man himself, but he made damned sure that no one ever noticed.  Once people had felt the full force of his personality, “small” was not a word anyone would ever associate with Diarmid Gold.  

Dove— with a given name like Thelonius, Gold could understand why the man chose to go by his surname— needed to go to no such lengths in order to be taken seriously.  He had well over a foot of height on Gold, and his habit of stooping to pass under door frames and light fixtures only served to emphasize his size.  Even his _voice_ loomed.  When he spoke, it was with the bass rumble of distant mountains crumbling to dust.

Next to him, Gold felt tiny and insignificant, so naturally, Belle seemed rapt with the man.

She was nodding along with everything he said, her eyes shining.  It was a sharp contrast to her noncommittal response to their other interviewees.  Only Anton Tine, a giant of a man who looked like a child in comparison to Dove, had elicited any enthusiasm from her.  Until this moment, Gold had simply thought she was playing her cards close to her vest so as not to weaken her bargaining position when they negotiated the new caretaker’s contract.  

Apparently, however, it was just that none of those candidates had lived up to her standards.  Within ten minutes of meeting the man, it was patently clear that Dove was going to win the day, meaning that Gold was going to have to find a way to live with the massive man.

On the couch beside him, Belle was practically vibrating with excitement as Dove explained how art and music were able to reach otherwise inaccessible places in the minds of those touched by injury or illness.  Despite his own misgivings, Gold had to admit that his hands-on approach seemed like a perfect fit for someone as obsessed with building things as Moe.  

“Dad’s an inventor—“  Belle faltered for a moment.  “I mean, he was an inventor before his stroke.  He has a project he’s working on.  He never really gets anywhere with it, but it’s very important to him.”

“Perpetual motion,” Gold put in, aware of Belle’s surprised look.

“Is that something you can work with him on?  I don’t mean do it for him, and I don’t know if he’ll accept any help, but…”  She trailed off, looking helpless.

“I would be delighted to work with Mr. French on his project.  I consider it a promising sign that he has such an area of interest.  It’s when an individual’s focus shifts inward that it can be difficult to reach him.”

“Can you help him?”  There was something new in Belle’s voice, something hungry.  Instinctively, Gold took her hand and squeezed.

Dove considered her question.  “Current research indicates that the brain is more plastic than previously believed.  While damage cannot be undone, the brain is capable of forming new connections to compensate.  With therapy and the proper medical treatment, Mr. French may well be able to regain some of the skills that he’s lost.”

It was a solid answer, optimistic without offering false hope, and Gold nodded in approval.  Next to him, he could feel Belle drawing in on herself, and he realized she’d been hoping that Dove would promise them a miracle.

“Do you have any questions for us?” he prompted.

Dove nodded slowly.  “Would it be possible for me to meet Mr. French?  I would like to get a sense of his personality.”

Belle shook off her dark mood and smiled warmly.  “Of course.  I’ll take you upstairs.”

Gold trailed along behind them so he could observe their interaction.  Belle was clearly taken with Dove, but nothing in her expression or body language indicated attraction.  That was as it should be, and he felt something in his soul unclench as a worry he hadn’t fully realized he was nursing faded away.

“Dad?  I’d like you to meet someone.  This is Dove.”  Gold paused in the doorway to Moe’s room to watch the introduction.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. French.”

Moe glanced up briefly before returning his attention to his project, only to look up again a moment later, slower this time as he zeroed in on Dove.  “How tall are you?”

“Dad!”

Dove didn’t even blink.  “I am six foot ten.  How tall are you?”

“Five-nine.  Always wanted to be taller.”

“It has its drawbacks.  I often hit my head on things.”

Moe considered that, then nodded.  “Good point.”

“Would you tell me about your project?”  Belle stepped back as Dove took a seat beside Moe, sitting close enough to express interest without being close enough to make the man feel intimidated.  “Mr. Gold told me that you’re endeavoring to create perpetual motion.  What method are you using?”

Instead of being annoyed by the interruption, Moe seemed to delight in the chance to talk about his work.  Gold couldn’t make heads or tails out of what he was saying, but Dove either had better luck or was a consummate actor.  Satisfied that they’d found their caretaker, he turned his attention to Belle when she moved to lean against the wall beside him.  “They seem to be getting along.”

“He’s perfect.”  Despite her words, Belle’s voice was flat.  Doubtlessly, she was still feeling bruised by Dove’s cautious optimism.

“Isn’t it better that he’s realistic?  You wouldn’t want him to offer you false hope.  Sweetheart, I know you want a miracle, but even a small improvement is still improvement.”  

To his horror, Belle’s eyes went glassy.  “That’s not it.”

Catching hold of her arm, Gold tugged her out into the hall so they could speak privately.  “Then what is it?”

“Didn’t you hear what he said?  That with therapy and proper medical treatment he could get better?”  

“Aye.”  He wasn’t sure why she sounded so desolate.  As far as he was concerned, that was good news.

“He’s been getting worse for years!”  Belled wrapped her arms around herself.  “If I’d taken him to better doctors… if I’d worked with him more…”

Realization swept over Gold.  Belle was too busy blaming herself for not doing enough for her father over the past years that she couldn’t accept the hope that Dove offered her.  “No.”

“No?” Belle repeated, her eyebrows lifting.

“It’s not your fault.  You did everything you could for him.  You worked yourself to the bone just to keep a roof over his head and food in his mouth.  You gave him everything you had.  There’s no reason to feel guilty.”

“But it wasn’t enough!” Belle wailed.

Gold yanked her into his arms, holding her unyielding form close.  “ _Nothing_ is ever enough.  When it comes to the people we care about, we always think there’s something else that we should have done that would have changed everything.  But there isn’t, and if you think that way, you’ll drive yourself mad.  You could have taken him to the best doctors in the world and spent twenty-four hours a day doing therapy exercises with him, and it still wouldn’t enough because what you really want to wave a magic wand and fix everything.  And you can’t do that.  Magic doesn’t exist.”

In his embrace, Belle’s body was stiff, a clear sign that she wasn’t accepting the absolution he offered.  Gold tried again.  “You did the best you could with what you had.  You’ve been drowning for years, and you kept both your heads above water.  That’s something to be proud of.  You did everything you could to give him his best chance.  That’s why you’re here.”

Belle slumped against him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder.  “That’s why I’m here,” she agreed in a small voice.

Heartened by this show of softening, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “That’s right.  You’re a good daughter.”  She was giving up her dreams of romance and happily ever after to provide for her father.  Not many people would be willing to make that sacrifice.

She pulled out of his embrace and gave him a tremulous smile.  “I’m okay now.”

Gold wasn’t entirely certain that he believed her.  Belle had years of pent up guilt and frustration to deal with, and a five minute pep talk from him was unlikely to erase all of it.  Still, he was proud to have helped.  “Are we decided on Dove?”

“Oh yes.  He’s perfect for Dad.”

“Then why don’t I negotiate his contract while you spend some time with your father?”  Now that they had a caretaker for Moe, Gold could be generous about sharing Belle’s attention with the older man.

“Thank you.”  To Gold’s surprise, Belle leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, a far more intimate caress than he’d expected.  Perhaps once things with Dove were settled, they could find some time for another “practice session”.

With that in mind, Gold wasn’t as ruthless during the negotiations as was his wont.  For his part, Dove clearly had some negotiating experience of his own, and Gold was grudgingly impressed by the man’s bargaining prowess.  He respected anyone who knew what he wanted and went after it.

In the end, they settled on a more generous salary and benefit package than he’d planned, but when he remembered how pleased Belle was to find someone who connected with her father, Gold didn’t begrudge the money.  Even better, Dove agreed to start the following day, meaning that they only had to get through one more night of placating Moe before they finally got some time to themselves.

After he’d escorted Dove to the door and contacted the agency to inform them of the arrangement, Gold found Belle in her father’s room, perched on the sofa as she watched him work.  

“Look,” she whispered as he walked in.

It took Gold a moment to understand what she was trying to show him, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise when he followed her pointed gaze.  Moe’s project, which up until this point had been little more than random bits and pieces scattered across the table, had gained a definite shape.  

Instead of a pile of junk, Moe now had a platform with a small wheel mounted to it that he was studying with great interest.  It wasn’t much, and Gold had no idea what it was supposed to do, but from the look on Belle’s face, he’d made major progress.

“That’s wonderful,” he said honestly.  In less than an hour, Dove had already made a positive impact on Moe.  

“It’s been _years_ ,” Belle murmured as he claimed the seat next to her.  

“I think this is a sign you made the right choice.  Dove moves in tomorrow.”  

Instead of looking pleased at the news, Belle jerked her attention away from her father to pin him with a sharp gaze.  “What?”

“The spare room across the hall.”  Gold nodded in the general direction.  

“What are you talking about?”  Belle looked so honestly confused that Gold found himself wondering if he’d hallucinated the events of the morning.  

“We agreed to hire Dove to be your father’s caretaker,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but…”  Belle’s face twisted in distress.  “He’s moving in?  I thought he’d just come for a couple hours a day to work with Dad.”

Ah.  

Gold winced as he realized they’d been talking at cross-purposes.  “I thought we agreed that caring for your father was too much for you.”

“And that’s why we agreed to hire Dove.  To give me a break.”  Belle was looking at him like she’d never seen him before.  “You asked him to _move in_?”

“I contacted the agency and asked for a live-in caregiver.  You can’t keep doing everything yourself, Belle.  You’re working yourself to the bone.”  They’d agreed that she had final say over Moe’s care, but on this matter, Gold would not be moved.  

“But…”  Belle looked from him to Moe and back again.  

“When’s the last time you slept through the night?  Ate a hot meal?  Sat down and read a book?”  Her lips tightened, telling him that his questions were striking home.  “You need to take some time for yourself.”

“What do you expect me to do?” she challenged.

Gold pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, refusing to allow himself to be baited.  “Whatever you want.  Go shopping.  Go out to lunch with your friends.  Spend the day at the spa.  Stay in bed all day and read a book from cover to cover.  I want you to relax and have some fun.”

She shook her head.  “He needs me.”

He was opening his mouth to argue that while Moe did indeed need someone to care for him, that someone didn’t have to be her, when his brain caught up with his tongue.  For years, Belle had defined herself as her father’s caretaker, and some roles weren’t easy to relinquish.  That was something he knew all too well.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered his thoughts and tried another tack.  “Yes, he does.  You’re his daughter and you will always be his daughter.  I’m not telling you that you can’t spend time with him.  I’m saying that you don’t have to do _everything_.  Let Dove do some of the work.  

If anything, Belle only looked more mutinous.  “Dad won’t want anyone else taking care of him like that.”

“He likes Dove.”  That was the entire reason they’d selected the big man.  “It might be bumpy at first, but Dove is a professional.  He knows how to handle this sort of thing.  Be honest— wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else bathing him?  Wouldn’t you enjoy going to bed and knowing you didn’t have to get up until you felt like it?”

Belle bit her lip.  “I don’t mind taking care of him.”

Moe French was Belle’s entire world.  Without a caretaker, there was no room for a husband in that world.  There was barely room for Belle herself.  “I know you don’t.  You’ve been doing it for years.  You’ve earned a break.  With Dove here, he’ll be well cared for, and you’ll be able to be his daughter, not his keeper.”

When Belle turned to look at her father, Gold wasn’t sure if she was thinking over his words or shutting him out.  “Why don’t we give it a trial run?  If, after a month, you’re not happy with how Dove is working out, we’ll rethink the situation.”

As he said the words, Gold hoped his time frame was appropriate.  A month should be enough time for Moe to adapt to a new routine, and once Belle had a taste of being able to do as she pleased, she would remember how much she enjoyed that freedom.  

“After a month, if I’m not satisfied, Dove moves out?” she pressed.

“You have final say over your father’s care.”  If Belle refused a live-in caregiver, Gold wasn’t certain what he’d do, but they could burn that bridge once they came to it.  First, he had a month to convince her that there was more to life than being her father’s keeper.

“I’ll give it a month,” she agreed, not sounding entirely pleased about the compromise.

Right now, suggesting they take advantage of her father’s distraction to spend some time together would probably be counterproductive.  Instead, Gold opted to settle himself more comfortably beside her, moving close enough so that she could feel him beside her.  Belle didn’t take her eyes off her father, but when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she leaned into him, which was a partial victory.  At this point, he would take what he could get and hope that tomorrow Dove would prove to be the miracle worker that he’d never claimed to be.

Their marriage depended on it.


	11. Chapter 11

It was too quiet.

In a matter of days, Gold had become accustomed to the constant jingling of sleigh bells that indicated Moe French was on the move.  The sound was irritating when it distracted him from his work and infuriating when it ruined charged moments with his fiancee, but somehow the quiet was even more disturbing.

Giving up on his work, Gold stood and left his office, heading for the stairs.  As he climbed, the sound of voices grew steadily more distinct.  He couldn’t quite make out Dove’s bass rumble, but Belle’s higher-pitched voice was clear.  

“Do you really think so?”

Whatever Dove said in response seemed to please her if her next words were any indication.  “Oh, that’s _wonderful_!  I’ll have to tell Diarmid.”

The sound of his own name made him smile.  Belle’s immediate response to receiving good news was to want to share it with him.  That was a _very_ good sign.  

There was no time like the present.  “Tell Diarmid what?”

Belle jumped at the sound of his voice, turning from where she was sitting on the edge of Moe’s bed to watch Dove and her father as they sat together at the table, their heads bent over Moe’s project.

“Sneaky!” she accused, her eyes sparkling.  When she patted the mattress beside her, Gold moved to join her.  “Dove was telling me that he knows a doctor in the area who specializes in cases like Dad.”

“Doctor Kurz is very good at what he does,” Dove agreed, giving him a respectful nod of greeting.

“I’d like to call and set up an appointment if that’s okay with you.”  Belle turned pleading eyes on him.

Apparently, she didn’t want to share good news at all.  Instead she was merely seeking permission to arrange treatment for her father.  The disappointment left a sour taste in his mouth.  “Of course.”

“Thank you!”  The kiss she pressed to his cheek mollified Gold a bit, a sensation that dissipated when she hopped off the bed.  “I’m going to bring up lunch.  Do you want to eat here with us?”

He wanted to eat at the dining room table with his fiancee like a normal human being, but apparently that wasn’t an option.  This wasn’t quite how he’d planned for life to unfold once Dove was installed as Moe’s caretaker, but Gold swallowed his flash of impatience.  Dove had been here a matter of hours.  He couldn’t really expect Belle to just dump her father in his lap without looking back.

Realizing that Belle was looking at him oddly, Gold hurried to answer her question.  “Yes, thank you.  Do you need any help?”

The look of gratitude she turned on him was completely out of proportion to the simple offer.  “No, that’s okay.  You go ahead and visit with Dad.  I’ll be right back.”

With Moe’s attention focused on the metal wheel in his hand that Gold was willing to bet had once been part of his cuckoo clock, he wasn’t sure how much visiting was going to happen.  “How has your day been, Moe?”

“Fine, fine,” Moe answered absently.  

“How’s the machine coming?”  

Moe looked at him reproachfully.  “I’m trying to concentrate.”

So much for visiting.

Gold tried not to notice the sympathetic look Dove was currently giving him.  “Tell me about this Doctor Kurz.”

The big man seemed happy to oblige, and Belle looked delighted when she returned to the room, lunch tray in hand, to see him conversing with Dove.  “Here we go!” she announced as she passed out plates of sandwiches and glasses of iced tea, all produced by the housekeeper’s capable hands.  

“Prosciutto and arugula, that must be yours.”  She handed Gold his plate with a smile.  “Turkey for Dad.  Chicken salad for me.  Dove, it looks like you have one of each.  She wasn’t sure what you like to eat.”

Considering the man’s size, Gold wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when he ate all three, but he noticed Dove lingered the most over the prosciutto.  At least someone else in this household appreciated the finer things in life.

Somehow, Dove managed to get Moe to put down his work and eat his sandwich with the rest of them.  Gold could feel Belle’s surprise at the ease with which he channelled her father’s focus, but when he tried to catch her eye to share her pleasure in this proof that Dove was the right man for the job, her mouth was set in a thin line.

Despite a few gentle hints that she might like to get some fresh air, Belle showed no inclination to move from her spot on her father’s bed, and Gold chose to retreat instead of pressing the matter.  Short of dragging her out of the room by her hair, or— worse— ordering her to come downstairs with him, there would be no budging her, and he would prefer not to order her about.  He was her husband, not her employer.

By dinnertime, Gold was ready to rethink his earlier position.  He’d just lit the candles on the dining room table when Belle came downstairs for her plate, immediately turning to go back upstairs once she had it in hand.

Enough was enough.  

“I would appreciate it if you would join me for dinner.”

The dining room was clearly visible from where Belle was standing in the kitchen, but she jumped like she’d been oblivious to his presence until he spoke.  Maybe that was it, Gold thought hopefully.  Perhaps she wasn’t shunning him at all.  Perhaps she just hadn’t seen him.

Her next words dashed his hopes.  “Do you want me to carry your plate up for you?”

Gold closed his eyes and breathed slowly, trying to hold on to his temper.  “I’ll be eating in the dining room.  I would like it if you did the same.”

When Belle asked him what he expected of his wife, he’d made it clear that he expected her to take meals with him.  He hadn’t specified that they be in the dining room, and perhaps that had been his mistake.  In his defense, he never would have guessed that she’d be so determined to eat every meal while sitting on her father’s bed.

Belle cast an agonized look in the direction of the staircase.  “I…”

“Dove is with your father, is he not?”  That was what he was being paid for.

“Well, yes, but…”  He watched as her body started to sway, Belle shifting her weight from foot to foot as though being physically pulled in two directions at once.

He could pressure her.  He could ask her if she questioned Dove’s competence and get her so turned around that she’d find herself at the table with him before she knew what was happening.  It would be easy.

It would also be unsatisfying.  Gold didn’t want Belle’s company because he’d manipulated her into eating with him.  He wanted her to _choose_ him.  She’d moved into his home four days ago, and since then he’d had less of her attention than he did back when they texted each other chess moves and thoughts about literature.  He’d felt closer to her when she was in Boston and he was in Maine.

Belle’s face was pinched like he was torturing her, and Gold swallowed a sigh.  He’d created this problem by not putting his foot down at the very first meal and insisting they all eat together in the dining room.  Now that the precedent had been set, he would just have to live with the consequences.  It wouldn’t kill him to sit on the sofa in Moe’s room and eat, and if he could convince Belle to sit beside him, they might actually be able to talk.

He’d never been good at sharing, but if this relationship was going to work, he was clearly going to have to get good at it quite quickly.

“Never mind the dining room.  If you’ll carry my plate up, I’ll blow out the candles and carry the wine.”  There was no point in making her miserable when a compromise was easy enough to make.  Tomorrow, he’d have small tables moved into Moe’s room so they had somewhere to put their plates.

“No.”  Belle’s response caught him off guard.

“No?”  Was she actually refusing to allow him to eat with her?

“You’re right.  Dad’s with Dove.  He’s fine.  I… I’d like to see the dining room.”  Her brave smile made his throat ache.

“Thank you,” he rasped, his accent thick.  Annoyed with himself, he swallowed hard.

When Belle’s eyes met his they were glassy, but she was smiling.  “You’re welcome.”

Gold wasn’t sure how long he stood in the doorway staring at her before he finally realized that if he wanted her to eat in the dining room with him, it would be helpful if he got out of the way.  To his relief, Belle didn’t say anything about his momentary trance once he persuaded his feet to move.

“This is gorgeous.”  Belle’s eyes shone as she took in the candlelit table.

While Gold was aware that his home was exquisitely decorated, he’d long since ceased to pay any real attention to its beauty.  Now, with Belle sitting at his right hand, he realized that the room had never looked better.  “Wine?”

“Half a glass.  We don’t need a repeat of the Scotch incident.”  Her eyes sparkled at him.

It had only been four days, and they already had a private joke.  Things were looking up.  “Two full glasses on an empty stomach would knock anyone for a loop.”

Belle shook her head.  “Not me!  At least, it wouldn’t have while I was in college.  I was the best drinker in my freshman dorm.”

She sounded so proud that Gold couldn’t help but laugh.  “Tell me about college.  What was your major?”

“Literature and library science.  I was going to be a librarian.”  Belle giggled when he affected an expression of faux shock.  “I know… I know… I’m predictable.”

“Not at all.”  She never failed to surprise him.  Gold hoped that would never change.

Dinner tonight was more adventurous— grilled venison loin with roasted purple potatoes and baby carrots— but Gold barely tasted the delicious meal.  His full attention was on Belle as she regaled him with stories from her college days.  As she told him about her adventures with her school’s improvisational comedy troupe and some of the odd experiments she’d participated in as part of her psychology class, he could almost see years of stress and sadness falling away from her.  She sat taller in her seat, and her smile came more easily, reaching her eyes in a way it rarely had before.  It wasn’t until he saw a genuine smile on her face that he realized how much she’d been faking up until now.

“I tried out for the musical my junior year,” she informed him as she used a potato to wipe up the last bit of red wine sauce on her plate.  “It was _Into the Woods_ — have you ever seen that?  It’s about fairy tale characters.  I got cast as Red Riding Hood.”

The mental image of Belle in a red cape and little else was a very pleasant one.  Perhaps a bit too pleasant.  Gold cleared his throat.  “I’m not familiar with the show, but I’d love to see pictures.”

Belle’s shoulders slumped as though his question had pricked her like a pin and deflated her of all the good memories she’d conjured up in the preceding hour.  “I didn’t get to do it.  I had to drop out when Dad…”

She trailed off, but Gold could easily finish the sentence for himself.  “I understand.”

It was as though he could see a thick line drawn through the map of Belle’s life.  On one side of the line was a happy, carefree girl who enjoyed literature and parties and theater.  On the other was the downtrodden woman she’d become, worn down by years of stress and worry.

One thing was clear— it was going to be his job as her husband to bring that carefree girl back to life.  She would never be able to recapture exactly what she’d lost, but at the very least, Belle needed to remember how to have fun.  It had been far too long.

Now that the conversation had come back around to her father, it was pointless to try to talk of anything else.  “Are you pleased with Dove so far?  Your father seems to be responding well to him.”

“He’s great with Dad.”  Belle’s voice was utterly flat, taking him off guard.  

“If he’s doing something to upset you, tell him to stop.  Or tell me and I’ll relay the message.  We’re paying him.  We make the rules.”  Belle was more accustomed to being an employee than an employer.  The notion that she was the one in charge might not come naturally to her.  

“He’s putting him on a schedule!” she burst out, dropping her fork onto the table with a clang.  “He says it’s important for Dad to have structure, so he decides on a time for everything and gets Dad to do it.  Lunch at noon.  Art therapy at one.”

Privately, Gold thought a schedule sounded like a fine idea, but he could understand Belle’s reservations.  She was used to a more laissez faire environment.  “Do you want me to talk to him?  Tell him that we’re more comfortable letting Moe set the pace for the day?”

“No!”  Belle turned a frustrated glare on him as Gold groped to understand the problem.

After a moment, she enlightened him.  “He _needs_ to be on a schedule.  I’ve been trying to get him on a schedule for _years_ , but I could never get him to cooperate.  Dove’s been here for less than a day, and he’s managing Dad better than I ever did.  It’s been a _day_.”

When Belle buried her face in her hands, Gold left his seat to wrap his arms around her.   _That_ was the problem.  It wasn’t that Dove was doing a poor job.  Instead, he was doing too well and making Belle feel inferior.  She’d tried so hard for so long to take care of her father, and now a complete stranger was putting her efforts to shame.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered roughly as he rubbed her back, not sure if she was crying or not.

“All he has to do is make a suggestion, and Dad just does whatever he wants.  Half the time, I can’t even get him to eat when I know he’s hungry!”  Belle turned her face into his waistcoat, her arms sliding around his waist to cling to him.  Whatever else was happening between him, she turned to him for comfort.  Gold allowed himself a moment to be proud of that.

“Dove is trained for this,” he reminded her.  He was willing to bet that there was a great deal more happening in the background than Dove just making suggestions that Moe followed than either he or Belle would be able to pick up on.  “You’re not.  Anything’s easier if you know how to do it.”

“But I know _Dad_ ,” she protested.  

“That might be part of the problem.”  As he spoke the words, a theory formed in Gold’s head.  “Dove doesn’t have the baggage that you do.  Part of you still considers your father an authority figure, he doesn’t.  Your father still sees you as a girl.  Dove is an unknown quantity.”  He’d noticed Belle’s gentle approach to her father, the deference she showed.  Respect for one’s elders was a noble quality, but in a situation like this, it was counterproductive.  Someone had to be in charge, and if Belle couldn’t put herself in that position, by default, Moe was running the show.

“That makes sense.”  Her voice was subdued, but Gold could tell she was thinking about what he said.

Gold kissed the top of her head.  “You did the best you could, and as soon as you had the option, you hired the perfect caretaker.  You knew from the start that Dove was the right one.  I wouldn’t even have interviewed him.”

Belle lifted her head to meet his eyes in surprise.  “Really?”

“I didn’t see what you saw.  You know your father so well that you understood exactly what he needed, and you gave it to him.  Look at it this way, if he broke his arm, would you try to set it yourself?”

“Of course not.”

“You’d take him to a doctor because the doctor is trained to help him.  It’s the same thing with Dove.  He’s trained to take care of people like Moe.  You can’t be an expert in everything.”  In his arms, he could feel Belle relaxing into him.

“You make it seem so easy,” she said ruefully.

Since Gold felt utterly out of his depth, her words heartened him.  Perhaps he wasn’t making a complete hash of this after all.

Beneath his jacket, Belle rubbed the small of his back.  “You can’t be comfortable.”

He was standing over her chair, hunched over so he could embrace her, and in truth, it wasn’t a comfortable position.  Gold would also happily stand there for the rest of eternity if he could have Belle in his arms and know that she was content to be there.  “I’m fine.”

“That’s not the word I would use.”  When he glanced down at her, Belle brushed her lips against his in a tender kiss.  “Thank you, Diarmid.”

She gave him a squeeze, then lowered her arms, indicating the end of their embrace.  Reluctantly, Gold released her and reclaimed his seat, scooting it an inch or so closer to her in the process.  It was foolish, but he felt the need to stay near her.

“This is really nice,” Belle mused as she looked at the candlelit table.  “We should do this every night.”

Gold’s throat felt tight.  “I would like that.”

“I would too.”

When she looked at him with warm eyes, there was only one thing he could think to say.  “Dessert?”

Belle’s smile outshone the candles.  “Dessert.”


	12. Chapter 12

Gold had had enough.

In the week since he’d joined the household, Dove had proven himself to be a miracle worker.  Moe was eating and sleeping at appropriate times, and although he occasionally expressed a desire to return to Boston, not one antique had been broken.  Belle hadn’t just chosen a suitable caretaker for her father; she’d chosen the _perfect_ caretaker.

And she still spent every free moment in her father’s room.

True to her word, she joined Gold for dinner every night in the dining room, and they’d even managed to have conversations that didn’t revolve around Moe French.  At night, she slept beside him, the curve of her bottom pressed against his side.  She didn’t shy away from contact with him or seek to avoid him.  She just continued to prefer her father’s company over that of her fiancé, and it was high time that changed.  Gold refused to spend his marriage coming second to another man.  He’d already had enough of that for one lifetime.

In hopes of changing the set pattern, instead of going to his office after breakfast, he loitered in the kitchen until Belle brought down the tray of breakfast dishes from upstairs.  Dove had offered more than once to take on that task himself, but she always refused.  Privately, Gold wondered if part of her missed the daily drudgery of Moe’s care.  It seemed ridiculous, but an almost buried part of his own psyche knew the satisfaction of caring for another and recognized it in Belle.

“Oh!”  Belle smiled at the unexpected sight of him.  “You’re a slowpoke today.  Did you decide to live on the edge and have _two_ cups of coffee instead of just one?”    His austere morning meal was a constant source of amusement for her, and to Gold’s surprise, he found he didn’t mind the teasing.  It felt like she was laughing with him, not at him.

“Actually, I had a better idea.  I think it’s time you got acquainted with Storybrooke.  How would you like to go exploring with me?”  If Belle could travel halfway around the world to go to college and make a home for herself in Boston, she would hardly be intimidated by a small town like Storybrooke, but showing her around was something they could do together.  More importantly, it would get her out of the house and away from her father.  

As he watched the expressions play over Belle’s face, Gold felt as though he could read her mind.  There was the bright flash of excitement that indicated she was eager to see her new town, followed almost immediately by a slump of her shoulders and a glance behind her in the direction of the stairs that expressed her misgivings as clearly as if she’d voiced them aloud.

Belle wanted to go out, but she felt guilty for wanting to do so.  He could work with that.  

“We can text Dove to make sure that all is going well, and tonight you can tell Moe about everything you saw.  Perhaps we can buy something for him while we’re out.  A favorite snack or a new shirt or a part for his machine?”  If he could convince her that their excursion would benefit Moe, she’d have no reason to say no.

Belle bit her bottom lip as she swayed, shifting her weight from foot to foot.  “What if he needs me and I’m not here?”

“Then Dove can call, and we’ll come straight home.  Storybrooke is a bit smaller than Boston.  No matter where we are, we can be home in five minutes.”  Normally, Gold preferred to walk, the exercise good for his bad leg, but today they would take the Cadillac.  It was important that Belle know she could return to her father’s side at a moment’s notice during this first break from him.

“We’ll come straight home if Dove calls?” Belle pressed.  

“Of course.”  If he wanted her to learn to enjoy being out and about, she had to feel confident that Moe would be fine in her absence.  Someday she might prioritize her own needs above her father’s, but someday was not today.

“I’d _really_ like that.”  Her tone of voice indicated that she was confessing something shameful.  “Sometimes I feel like I’ve been locked up for years.”

As far as Gold was concerned, she had been.  Moe’s needs had imprisoned Belle as securely as any jail cell.  “Then it’s time for a jail break.  Get your shoes and say goodbye to your father.  We’re going out on the town.”

Storybrooke wasn’t particularly exciting to begin with, let alone at ten in the morning, but Belle bounced on her heels, her eyes sparkling like he’d offered to take her to Paris.  Gold chuckled to himself as she ran for the stairs as though afraid he’d change his mind if she didn’t move fast enough.

Fifteen minutes later she was back, her hair done up in a fetching knot and her lips looking redder than usual.  When she noticed him looking, she blushed.  “Well, I didn’t want to look like a slob.”

“You look lovely,” he said honestly.  Belle always looked beautiful, but there was something sweet in her wanting to be at her best to meet Storybrooke.

In comparison to Boston, Storybrooke was little more than a blip on the map, but Belle’s nose was practically plastered to the Cadillac’s window as they made the short drive to the center of town.  The mayor, Mary Margaret Nolan, was strict in her refusal to allow chain stores and fast food franchises to gain a toehold within the town limits, so the main street was a jewel box of tiny boutique shops,  Belle’s clothing and jewelry needs would be well met, and he hoped the lack of a library or book store wouldn’t bother her too much.  Gold foresaw a great many deliveries from Amazon arriving at the house.

“It’s like something out of a book,” Belle marveled when they passed the small public park.  

“I know you’re used to more variety after living in Boston—“ he began, but she cut him off.

“Boston was fun, at least at first, but this… it’s _homey_.”  She sighed happily, easing Gold’s fear that she would feel stifled in the small town.

“It’s bigger than it appears, but there’s very much a small town mentality.  You’ll be gossiped about,” he warned her.  Already, he could imagine what people would say about Diarmid Gold’s beautiful young bride.

Belle hummed under her breath.  “Better to be gossiped about than to be invisible,” she decided.  “In Boston, no one even makes eye contact.”

“That won’t be a problem here.”  As they drove past Granny’s Diner, Gold tapped the window.  “The diner is the town’s social hub.  Good coffee, mediocre food, and gossip are on the menu.”  

Belle nodded, looking at the building as though attempting to memorize it in preparation for a later quiz.  “The Rabbit Hole is the only bar and can attract an undesirable element.  I would rather you take someone with you if you plan to drink there.”

“I already have someone in mind.”  

Her light words slipped past his ears to stab his chest.  They’d promised to be honest with each other, but she couldn’t really think it was a good idea to come right out and tell him that she planned to meet up with her lover.  “Oh?”

With a giggle, she nudged his arm.  “My husband likes to get me drunk.”

The jolt of relief made him laugh.  “It’s not my fault my wife is a feather-weight.”

The teasing reminded him of something important.  As soon as they’d completed their tour of Storybrooke, Gold retraced their path until he came to a jewelry store.  “I think it’s high time you had a ring.”

“You promised to surprise me,” she reminded him.

“That’s right, I did.  I’ve been a very neglectful fiancé.”  Gold placed his hand over his heart in a gesture of contrition.  He was reasonably sure that Belle wasn’t put out by the lack of diamonds, but just in case, he owed her an apology for failing to make good on his promise.  “I’m sorry I’ve made you wait so long.”

“Silly,” Belle said fondly, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth before pulling back, her face distressed.  “You know I don’t mind, right?  You don’t have to buy me a ring at all.  I don’t need a ring.”

With a chuckle, Gold stopped her anxious flow of words by claiming her mouth with his own until she melted into him.  “You might not need one, but I want you to have one.”  Seeing her with another man’s ring on her finger had been one of the more unpleasant experiences of his life.  Only seeing her wearing _his_ ring would fully soothe him.

Belle blinked up at him, her eyes dazed, and it was all he could do not to press her back in her seat and claim another kiss.  Only the knowledge that if he started another “practice session” he’d never show her any of Storybrooke restrained him.

He sat back and nodded at the little boutique next to the jewelry store.  “Why don’t you go in there and buy yourself something pretty?  When you finish, I’ll have a surprise for you.”

“It’s not a surprise if you tell me about it in advance.”  Her dancing eyes betrayed her pedantic tone.

Gold affected a long-suffering expression.  “My wife is impossible to satisfy.  The next fifty years are going to be very trying.”

Belle rolled her eyes, refusing to rise to the bait.  “Oh yeah, I’m high maintenance.”

“You are, a bit, but you’re worth it.”  Having the warmth of Belle’s full attention made everything he’d done for her so far a small price to pay.  

When he nudged her in the direction of the boutique, Belle went without complaint, but as Gold watched her make the short walk, she was already reaching into her purse to pull out her phone.   Checking up on her father, no doubt.  He supposed he couldn’t really complain.  He had no desire to banish Moe from Belle’s life.  He just wanted her to stop orbiting the other man like he was her own personal sun.

Once Belle was ensconced in the boutique, Gold set to work accomplishing his own task.  The proprietor was happy to display tray upon tray of glittering rings for his perusal, and although he was tempted to put a massive diamond on her finger as a reminder to the world that she was his now, Gold tried to keep Belle’s preferences in mind— something small, she’d requested.  Something simple.

He wasn’t entirely sure that the ring he selected qualified as small and simple, but Gold hoped she’d like it anyway because after one look, he’d known that it was meant to be hers.  Something about the Art Deco styling spoke to him.  The central round diamond was framed by a pierced square setting and flanked by a small pair of marquise diamonds set directly in the platinum band.  It wasn’t simple, but it was clean and classic, perfect for Belle.

To his delight, Belle was still in the midst of shopping after he’d completed his own purchase, the small velvet box riding easily in his jacket pocket.  When he stepped into the clothing boutique, a tall, red-haired woman greeted him, and at the sound of his voice, a disheveled Belle peeked out of the dressing room.  “You’re done already?”

“Take your time,” he encouraged as he accepted the redhead’s offer of a chair.  “My credit card needs a good workout.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he was meant to hear the redhead’s next words, a whispered piece of advice for Belle.  “Keep him!”

Shopping wasn’t one of his preferred hobbies, but listening to the rustle of clothing behind a curtain before Belle stepped out of the dressing room to display outfit after outfit was an exceedingly pleasant way to spend his time.  He was accustomed to seeing her in her tailored black and white bartender’s uniform, and since moving into his home, she’d favored jeans and soft tops, but with his bank account at her disposal and no one to please except herself, Belle favored bright colors and short skirts.  

“Gorgeous,” he praised her latest outfit— a bright green shirtdress that emphasized her curves and made her eyes look almost preternaturally blue.

Belle twirled to make her skirt stand out.  “So, is this the winner?”

Gold blinked at her.  “Pardon?”

“This is the one I should buy?” she clarified.

“I thought you were buying all of them.”  Trying on fifty dresses and only buying one hardly seemed like an efficient use of time.

The redhead whistled softly as Belle’s jaw dropped.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?  Everyone needs clothes.  If you like the dresses, buy the dresses.  I certainly like them.”  He enjoyed seeing her choose things for herself.  It was another way of getting to know her.

The redhead found something to do elsewhere in the shop as Belle padded closer to him on bare feet, holding out her sleeve so he could see the dress’s price tag.  “Look at that and then tell me to buy all of them,” she challenged.

“Do you have any idea how much my suits cost?” he shot back after a glance at the tag.  “Belle, if you like the clothes, buy the clothes.  I want you to have all the pretty things you want.  You _deserve_ pretty things.”

She’d spent years working like a dog, but that life was behind her now.  “What’s the point of having a wife if I can’t spoil her?”

Belle looked at him closely.  “You really mean that, don’t you?  You actually like spending money on me.”

“Aye.”  He thought they’d already gone over this.

A moment later, she was in his lap, her face pressed against his neck as her shoulders shook.  Not sure why she was crying, Gold wrapped his arms around her to hold her close.  “Hush.  It’s all right.”

One hand stole into his hair, her fingers tightening until her grip was nearly painful.  “You…” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Completely lost as to what to do, Gold settled for rubbing her back and making soothing noises until she stopped shaking.  Belle sighed, snuffling against his neck for long moments until she pulled back just enough to frame his face with her hands.

“Oh, Diarmid…” she sighed as she gazed at him with bruised eyes.  

“It’s all right,” he repeated, not sure what else to say.

Belle swallowed hard, then nodded.  “Yes, it is.”

She dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose before climbing off of his lap.  “Should I try on the rest of them?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”  

Belle played with the hem of her skirt for a moment, then gave it a decisive tug.  “That’s what I want to do.”

The shop assistant reappeared when Belle stepped back into the dressing room.  “I’m Ariel, by the way,” she introduced herself to him.

“A pleasure.”  To his surprise, Gold found that he meant it.  He appreciated her tactful attempt to give him and Belle some privacy, even if it was only to protect the sizable commission she was no doubt anticipating.

Once Belle had made her final selections, he escorted her to the cash register.  “Use your card,” he encouraged.  All the money came from the same place, but she needed to get into the habit of buying things for herself.

She went a little pale when Ariel presented her with the final total, but to her credit, she signed the bill with a steady hand.  “Well done,” Gold praised before giving Ariel instructions to deliver the clothes to the house later in the day.  

“I’ve never spent that much money at one time before in my life,” Belle commented as they stepped out of the boutique.

“I hope you enjoyed it.”  Since access to his bank account was one of the major perks of marrying him, it would be a shame if she didn’t.

Belle giggled.  “I liked it a lot more than I should have.”

“There is no shame in enjoying what you have.”  He’d never been able to understand the belief that liking material things was somehow shallow and unworthy.  It was pleasant to be surrounded by beautiful things.  Belle would be Belle whether she was garbed in silk or burlap, but silk was a damned sight more comfortable.

“I guess I’m just not used to having anything _to_ enjoy,” she admitted.  “I got used to it, you know?  Money can’t buy love or happiness or health.”

“But it can buy doctors and medicine and comforts,” he reminded her.  “Money is a very useful tool.  When you have it, you have options.  When you don’t, you’re forced to settle.  I’ve been poor, and I’ve been rich.  Rich is better.”

“Life is certainly easier when you have money.”  Belle glanced at the street.  “Well, in some ways anyway.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, pleased that they understood each other.  

He caught her arm and moved them away from the Cadillac.  The park was only a block away, and it was a warm enough day for spring in Maine.  He wasn’t romantic, but Belle was, and the least he could do was present her with her engagement ring in a setting more attractive than the front seat of his car.

“Speaking of having things, I have something for you.”

Belle’s eyes danced.  “A surprise?”

“Something along those lines.”  Belatedly, Gold realized he should have bought her a tiara or something else equally impractical as an actual surprise before giving her the ring.  Next time.

He guided her to a bench at the heart of the park, smiling as he watched her eyes dart, taking in everything.  

“It’s pretty here.”  There wasn’t much to the small park, but Belle looked around like it was paradise.  “I used to take a book outside in the morning and not come back in until it got too dark to read.”

“I hope you’ll start doing that again.”  When was the last time he’d lounged outside and just enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the feel of the breeze on his face?  Gold couldn’t remember.

“Maybe I will.”  Belle’s smile flickered, the light in her eyes dimming, and he knew she was thinking about her father.

Determined to head those thoughts off at the pass, he reached into his pocket for the velvet box.  “Your surprise,” he announced as he flipped it open to display the ring.

“Wow.”  Belle’s eyes went wide and glassy at the sight of it.  

“If it suits?”  He’d meant to make the question flippant and continue the teasing they’d done, but he sounded soft and hesitant to his own ears.

“It’s _beautiful_ , Diarmid.”  She reached out, brushing her fingertips to the ring for only a moment before caressing his jaw.  “I love it.”

Feeling oddly shaky, Gold tugged the ring free of its box and waited for Belle to offer him her left hand.  Once she did, he slid the ring home, and it sparkled even brighter on her finger than it did in the store.

With the diamond on her finger, there would be no question as to who Belle was to him once they braved the rest of Storybrooke, but to his surprise, staking his public claim on her was the last thing on Gold’s mind.  He wrapped his arm around Belle and tugged her closer, content to sit quietly at her side.  For this moment, they were the only two people in the world, and he liked it that way.


	13. Chapter 13

“Pink.”

“Pink?” Gold repeated in disbelief.  “Do I look like a man whose favorite color is pink?”

From across the booth, Belle gave him a long, searching look, then nodded decisively.  “Yep.  Your house is pink.  You own more than one pink shirt.  Pink is definitely your favorite color.”

“My house is _not_ pink.  It’s coral.”  It might _look_ pink in certain lights, but Gold was willing to fight about this point.

“You’re aware that I’ve seen your house, right?  I live there.  It’s pink.”  Belle lifted a napkin to her lips and blotted delicately, indicating that the discussion was closed.

“Even if my house was pink— which it is not— pink is not my favorite color.  Try again.”  The game had been her idea, and they’d been playing since they arrived at the diner.  By going from casual friends to an engaged couple while skipping all the interim steps, they’d left large gaps in what they knew about each other, and Belle had decided that trying to guess each other’s favorites was a good way to fill in the missing information.

So far, Gold was enjoying it immensely, mostly because he was winning.

“Hmmm.”  Belle chewed on her bottom lip as she considered the pressing matter of his favorite color, the unconscious gesture doing wonderful things to Gold’s blood pressure.

In an effort to distract himself, he glanced around, realizing that every eye was on them.  He’d expected nothing less when presenting his new fiancee to Storybrooke, but Belle seemed oblivious to the attention.  She’d smiled brightly at everyone when they arrived, but since then, her attention had been on him save for the handful of texts she’d exchanged with Dove, verifying that her father wasn’t in the process of tearing the house apart in their absence.

Pleased to be the center of her focus and determined to let Storybrooke know exactly what she was to him, Gold reached out and rested his hand on her left, careful not to block the view of her engagement ring.  With the diamond glittering on her finger, there could be no doubt at all as to what role Belle played in his life.  

“Well, you liked the green dress best…”  She said the words slowly as she examined his expression for clues.  Gold kept his face utterly blank, but she nodded in satisfaction anyway.  “Blue.”

“Blue,” he acquiesced.  Once upon a time, that hadn’t been true, but since meeting Belle, he’d had a marked preference for the shade that matched her eyes.  It was a disturbingly romantic thought that he was careful to keep to himself.  

Belle wriggled in her seat in an impromptu victory dance that brought a helpless smile to his face.  “Your turn.  What’s my favorite flower?”

That was a tricky one.  Gold wasn’t familiar with the flora of Australia, and he assumed she would select something that she’d loved since childhood.  Then again, she would probably play fair and pick something he would at least recognize, which gave him a fighting chance.  All women loved roses, but he wouldn’t insult her by choosing something so commonplace.  “Orchids.”

“Nope.  I’ll give you a hint— it’s big.”

“Sunflowers,” he said at once, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that himself.  Of course sunny-natured Belle would like the cheerful flower.

“Sunflowers,” she agreed, looking as pleased at his victory as she’d been about her own.

It was an enchanting way to spend an afternoon.  Belle was to be his wife, and that meant there was nothing about her he shouldn’t know.  Her preferences should be as familiar to him as his own.  The fate of their relationship might not rest on him knowing that she preferred mustard to catsup on hot dogs, but everything he learned forged another connection between them.

“That was fun,” Belle sighed as they made their way out of the diner after the meal.  “Everyone seems nice.”

“They’re wildly curious about you.  You’ll be mobbed the first time you set foot in Storybrooke on your own.”  The residents of Storybrooke treated him with a deference that wasn’t quite fear, but they all knew better than to intrude on his personal time.  Numerous property investments meant that he quite literally owned most of the town, and no one wanted to anger the landlord.

Belle looked a bit chagrined at the thought.  “I appreciate the warning.”

“You’ll win them over in no time,” he assured her.  “Just don’t lend anyone any money.”  He could easily envision an unscrupulous tenant begging Belle for a loan, and collecting his wife’s money as part of the rent would be beyond counterproductive.  

“Got it.”  Belle seemed lost in her own thoughts as they walked Storybrooke’s main street, arm in arm.  His attempt to pause in front of a jewelry store to see if anything caught her eye met with a complete lack of interest, but she lit up when they passed Marco Waxtern’s hardware store.  “Can we go in and get something for Dad?”

“We can do whatever you want.”  At least she hadn’t insisted on dragging Moe with them on this excursion, and it had been his idea for her to buy her father a gift.  He just wished she expressed as much enthusiasm about buying things for herself as she did for her father.

It was enjoyable to watch her dart around the store, her eyes bright as she gathered up various odds and ends for Moe.  “He had a whole workshop back home.  I bought tools for him whenever I could, but it’s just not the same.  And I don’t want him to hurt himself, you know?”

“Now Dove can supervise.”  Gold wasn’t sure he’d trust Moe with a power tool, but he would leave that up to Belle’s discretion.

“There’s a workbench in the basement.  Perhaps we could finish off that end and turn it into a proper workshop for him.”  Giving Moe his own space in the house seemed like the right thing to do.  For the most part, he didn’t really seem to mind spending all day in his room, but getting some exercise would probably do him as much good as the intellectual stimulation would.  

Before he’d finished saying the words, he found himself with an armful of Belle.  “You’re wonderful,” she murmured against his neck.

“Well, we did make a deal,” he rumbled, disappointed when she pulled away.

“That’s right.  I almost forgot.”  Belle blinked rapidly before fixing her smile back into place.  “I’ll just go pay for this stuff.”

This time, she handed the credit card over without a hint of hesitation, and Gold nodded in satisfaction at her show of confidence.  Belle hadn’t looked to him to approve her purchases or questioned whether she was buying too much.  That was an excellent start even if she was buying for her father and not herself.

“Should we continue our game?” she offered once they left the hardware store.  “Or should we play something else?  Make each other spill our deepest, darkest secrets?”

Her tone was playful, but it sparked something in Gold’s chest that made it hard to breathe.  “Do you have a deep, dark secret, Miss French?”

Her nose wrinkled as she considered the question.  “I don’t know.  I mean, there’s stuff I don’t tell anyone, but that’s not really a _secret_.  It’s just stuff I don’t tell anyone.  What do you want to know about me?  Ask me a question and then I’ll ask you one.  It’ll be like Truth or Dare.”

They’d promised each other honesty, but he’d never expected it to be so easy.  Belle was offering to make herself an open book and the intimacy she offered was heady.  Already, a dozen questions tumbled over themselves, begging to be asked, even as Gold cringed at the thought of what she might ask him in return.

Without thinking about it, he turned them around so they were heading back toward the car.  “You haven’t seen the beach yet.  I think we need privacy if we’re going to be confessing our deepest secrets.”

“There’s a beach?”  Belle looked so excited by the idea that he hated to disappoint her.  

“Not like you’re picturing,” he warned.  

To his surprise, Belle looked utterly delighted when she got her first glimpse of the rocky coastline.  “It’s _beautiful_.  I’ve always loved the ocean.”

No one would ever lie on this beach with a trashy novel and a drink served in a coconut shell, but the harsh crash of waves did have a certain appeal.  “It has its charms.”

“So, did you think of your question yet?”

He’d thought of little else during the short drive.  By the rules of her own game, Belle had to tell him the truth.  If he asked her about her mysterious boy from Maine, she would be forced to answer him.

Yet as he gazed into Belle’s eyes, Gold couldn’t force the question past his lips.  She’d promised to be his wife.  She’d vowed to be faithful to him, and every instinct he had told him that she could be trusted.  Belle wasn’t like Milah.  

If she told him, he could never unhear her answer.  For the rest of his life, he would know exactly how short he fell of Belle’s ideal, and Gold wasn’t sure he wanted to live with that knowledge.  “Tell me about your previous fiancé.”

“Greg?”  Belle relaxed back in her seat, gazing at the waves.  “We went to college together.  We were assigned to be lab partners in Intro to Psychology freshman year, and he asked me out.  We dated for a few months before I realized I liked his frat parties more than I liked him.”

She shrugged a little.  “He used to drop by the bar a few times a year, usually after he broke up with some girl.  He’d drink too much and feed me all the usual lines— He never got over me.  I was the one who got away.  I was the only girl who’d ever understood him.”

Belle’s eyes sparkled when she glanced at him.  “I doubt that.  Greg is _not_ complicated.”

Her smile faded as she hunched her shoulders forward, curling in on herself.  “His family has money, and Dad was doing so bad… I started playing into it.  I told him I never stopped thinking about him and I wondered what could have been…”

Her mouth twisted.  “He bought it.  I was pretty sure that if I just slept with him, he would have been over it, so I strung him along, told him I was saving myself for marriage, and…  Well, you know the rest.”

Belle looked so miserable that he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out.  Gold rested his hand over hers and rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand.  “Hey.  It’s okay.  You did what you had to do.”

When she turned to look at him, her eyes were red.  “You don’t think I’m a whore?”

“I think you’re a good daughter.”  When she continued to pin him with her desperate gaze, Gold realized that she needed to hear the words.  “And I have never— not for one second— thought you were a whore.”

Her shoulders slumped as she exhaled noisily, but her face was peaceful, as though he’d granted her absolution.  “Thank you.”

She turned her hand over to lace her fingers through his as she gave him a sidelong look.  “I didn’t, you know.  Save myself for marriage.  Is that… okay?”

Gold chuckled.  “Of course.  I’m not exactly as pure as the driven snow, so it would be the height of hypocrisy to expect you to be.”

Some of her previous sparkle returned in reaction to his answer.  “Oh good.  I know some guys can be funny about that.”

“Not me.”  It didn’t matter if Belle had had one lover or a hundred as long as she was willing to be faithful to him from this point forward.  If he didn’t live up to her previous experiences, she’d just have to tell him what she wanted.  At least he knew that his kisses pleased her.  

This seemed like an excellent time for another practice session, but Gold was uncomfortably aware that he hadn’t fulfilled his end of the bargain.  He’d asked a question, but he hadn’t answered one.  “It’s your turn.  Ask away.”

“Right.”  Belle sat up a little straighter as she marshaled her thoughts.  “Children.”

She’d gone straight for the jugular, and Gold clenched his jaw.  “Pardon?”

It was a stalling tactic since he knew exactly what she wanted to know, but Belle gave him an apologetic smile.  “Sorry, that wasn’t really a question, was it?  I mean… the prenup discussed children.  So, do you want kids?  Do you _have_ kids?”

He concentrated on breathing steadily through his nose and keeping his expression calm.  “I am not opposed to having children if that is something you desire.  I would prefer to have a few years to ourselves first though.  I’ll leave the… specifics of that to you.”

If he had two or three years to prepare himself, a child with Belle might bring more joy than pain.  Or maybe it wouldn’t.  Some wounds didn’t heal.

“Diarmid?”  Belle’s voice was soft and hesitant.

He forced the next words out.  “There was a child.  Grown now.  You won’t be expected to be a stepmother.”

“Hey.”  Belle scooted closer and put her free hand on his thigh, rubbing gently.  “It’s okay.”

He’d promised to be honest with her, but he couldn’t bear to tell her this.  Right now, Belle thought well of him.  “It’s a long, unpleasant story that doesn’t reflect well on any of the participants, least of all me.  I’ll tell you some day, just…”

“Just not today,” Belle finished for him.  She rested her head against his shoulder.  “It’s okay.  I can wait.”

“Do you want children?”  For the life of him, Gold wasn’t sure which answer he would prefer.

“I do, but I don’t mind waiting for that either.  I think you’re right.  We need some time to ourselves first.”  When she surreptitiously tried to adjust her grip on his hand, he realized how hard he was squeezing her fingers and loosened his hold.

“I’m bored with this game,” she announced suddenly.  “I don’t want to play any more.  Let’s talk about something else.  Something nice.”

Her voice rang with false cheer, and her generosity made his throat feel tight.  Instead of demanding the answers that she was entitled to by the rules of the game, she was willing to jettison the whole thing because she knew he was uncomfortable.  Truly, he’d chosen his life mate well.

He cleared his throat and drew in a deep breath, determined to match her light tone.  “What do you want to talk about?”

Apparently she hadn’t thought that far ahead.  For a moment, she looked adorably befuddled before her expression cleared.  “The wedding?  We should probably talk about that.”

“We can do whatever you want to do.”  As long as Belle promised herself to him, Gold had no interest in the details.  

Belle gave him an exasperated look.  “You must have _some_ ideas.  Did you have a place in mind?  A time of year?  How many people were you planning to invite?  I don’t know any of your friends.”

That was because he didn’t have any.  He had clients and business associates, but prior to their engagement, Belle had been his only true friend.  “My preference would be for a private affair, but I’m sure you have your own guest list in mind.”

Her humorless laugh caught him by surprise.  “Yeah.  Dad and Dove.  Big party.”

“You don’t want to invite your college friends?”  In recent years, Belle had had little time for socializing, but surely she would want to share her wedding day with her closest friends.  She was marrying well.  It wasn’t as though she needed to be ashamed of him.

“We lost touch after I dropped out.  I tried to stay in contact, but I guess I was less fun once I started taking care of Dad.  I can take a hint.”  

Gold could read between the lines.  Once Belle no longer had time for frivolous fun, her friends had moved on without her, leaving her with a needy father and no support system.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”  When she tried to smile, he released her hand and wrapped his arm around her.

“I’m still sorry.  If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have any friends either.”  This confession was easy to make.

“Really?”  Belle looked so surprised that he had to drop a kiss on the top of her head.  “You’re so _nice_.”

“You are the only person who thinks so,” he admitted.  As long as she continued to think so, he needed nothing more.

“That’s not true.  Dad and Dove think you’re nice.”  

Gold chuckled at her declaration.  “Then we have our guest list.  What about a place?”

“Could we do it here?”  Belle gestured at the view through the windshield.  “I’ve always liked the idea of a wedding on the beach.  Would that be okay?  Can you…?”

When she nodded at his bad leg, he caught her meaning.  She wasn’t sure if his cane would allow him to navigate the rocky shore, but her expression was one of concern, not impatience.  “I can manage as long as you don’t expect me to run.”

Belle giggled and nudged him.  “All right.  I’ll shelve my “running into each other’s arms at sunset” idea.  What about the when?  If we’re getting married on the beach, winter is out.”

“Did you want a long engagement?”  He wasn’t sure why the idea bothered him so much.  Belle was already sharing his bed and wearing his ring, but somehow it wasn’t enough.  She was supposed to be his _wife_.

“Do you?  I thought you might want to take some time first.  You know?  Make sure everything is working out like you planned?”  There was the faintest tremor in her voice, and that tipped him off.

She was afraid that he wouldn’t go through with it.  Ridiculous as it seemed, there was a part of Belle that feared he’d decide she was unsatisfactory and kick her to the curb, leaving her stranded in Maine and destitute.

She should know him better than that, but with Belle nestled against his side, Gold felt too protective of her to be annoyed that she could doubt him.  “Let’s get married this weekend.”

Startled blue eyes met his for a long moment before she smiled at him and leaned her head contentedly against his shoulder.  “All right.  We’ll get married this weekend.”


	14. Chapter 14

The house was still standing.  Gold chose to consider that a good sign.

The closer they got to home, the more agitated Belle became, and he’d barely finished parking the car before she was jumping out of it, her face angled to look at the second story of the house as though she was trying to see through the walls.  To Gold’s surprise, she didn’t immediately run for the door but waited for him, albeit impatiently.  He could almost see her vibrating as he limped around the car.

Gold took pity on her.  “Don’t wait for me.  Go ahead and check on him.  Tell him I said hi.”

Belle’s face lit with relief, and she paused just long enough to press a fervent kiss to his cheek before she was off and running.  “Dad!  I’m home!”

By the time he made it inside, there was no sign of Belle although he could hear the faint rumble of voices coming from the second floor over what sounded suspiciously like an Elvis song.  Dove had said something about using music in Moe’s therapy, but somehow Gold had expected Mozart, not Motown.

Satisfied that all was well, he flagged down the housekeeper and warned her to keep an eye out for a delivery before retreating to his office.  If he and Belle were going to be married this weekend, plans needed to be made.  No doubt, she would want to make the decisions about flowers and such, but there was paperwork to be done and an officiant to round up.  They hadn’t discussed religious beliefs, but if she wanted to be married on the beach, she probably wouldn’t object to a secular ceremony.  That was for the best.  The local church was no fonder of him than he was of it.

He was getting married.

Gold leaned back in his desk chair and gazed up at the ceiling, marveling at the thought.  After his divorce, he’d sworn never to commit himself again, but when given the opportunity to claim Belle for his wife, he hadn’t even hesitated.  Apparently, he’d been hungrier for companionship than he’d realized, and that was dangerous.  

It would be different this time, he assured himself.  He was no longer a callow, love-struck youth.  He was walking into this marriage with both eyes wide open, and he’d taken care to protect himself.  The terms of their marriage were clear— Belle got his financial support so she could care for her father, and in return, he got her companionship.  If today was any indication, he’d made a fine deal.

She didn’t love him, but he didn’t love her either.  It was better that way.  When feelings got involved, things got messy and mistakes were made.  Their arrangement was sensible and mature, a solid foundation for a lasting relationship.

His eyes narrowed as he reflected on the only possible flaw— Belle’s boy from Maine.  He wasn’t jealous.  It would be ridiculous to be jealous.  He had no claim on Belle’s heart, but the thought of her lying beside him in bed at night and dreaming of someone else set his teeth on edge.  Belle was his wife, and that meant that he should be the center of her world.  Sharing her attention with her father was one thing, but to share it with another man would be unbearable.

“Hey.”  

Gold nearly overbalanced when the door to his office opened to admit Belle.  They’d been home for less than half an hour.  He would have expected her to still be in Moe’s room.

She hesitated in the doorway, looking uncertain of her welcome, and he waved her in, frowning as he took in her slumped shoulders.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”  The word came too quickly, and Gold tasted a metallic flare of anger.  Belle was lying to him.

“Nothing?”  

He watched as she moved around his office, straightening knick-knacks that were already perfectly straight.  No, she wasn’t lying, he corrected himself, the anger fading as quickly as it had come.  Belle was telling him in every way possible that she was upset even if she wasn’t telling him why.

Uncertain of whether to approach her or not, Gold pushed his chair back from his desk, swiveling to look at her more directly.  “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

When Belle turned distressed eyes on him, he held his hands out to her, and that seemed to be the right thing to do.  In a moment, she was in his lap, snuggling close to him as she took hold of his tie to run it through her fingers.  “I’m horrible.”

Her eyes were downcast, focused on the strip of silk she was playing with.  “You’re not,” he denied as he carefully adjusted their position to take some of her weight off his bad leg.  He wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but with Belle in his arms, Gold would have cut his own leg off before he admitted it.

“I am though.”  She glanced up at him, her eyes shiny with tears.  “I’m a horrible person.”

This was about Moe.  It had to be.  Gold wanted to beat his head against the wall.  He’d finally gotten her out of the house and away from her father for a few hours, and Belle was reacting to that brief vacation with as much guilt as if she’d killed someone.  “I take it your father didn’t handle your absence well?”

“He didn’t even notice I was gone!”  Belle’s hands tightened around his tie, nearly strangling him.

With gentle fingers, Gold loosened her grip.  “Sweetheart, I don’t understand.”  He’d been expecting to hear that Moe was furious not to have Belle within arm’s reach.  If he’d been oblivious to her absence, she had nothing to feel guilty about.

“He doesn’t need me any more.  He’s got Dove now.”  With an exhausted sigh, Belle rested her head against his shoulder.

Gold stroked her hair.  “Isn’t that… good?”  The entire reason they’d hired Dove was to free Belle from her father’s care.  To him, it seemed that things were working out exactly as they’d intended.  

“Yes!”  Belle let out a hiccoughing sob, belying her agreement.  “No?  Oh, I don’t know…”

“Why don’t you tell me why you think you’re a horrible person?” he suggested.  

“I’m glad he had a good day.  I’m glad he didn’t get upset.  I don’t want him to get upset.  So, why do I feel so _bad_?”  Belle looked up at him helplessly, pleading for an answer that Gold didn’t have.

He wracked his brain, trying to make sense of this.  Dove was proving to be an exemplary caretaker, taking the burden off of Belle’s shoulders.  Moe was responding well enough to him that Belle was able to have some free time.  All of these changes were positive.  What did Belle have to feel bad about?

Gold sighed as realization dawned.  “You feel that Dove is taking your place.”

“I’m horrible.  I should be happy that he likes Dove.  Dove’s _good_ for him.  It’s just… it’s like I don’t even exist any more.  Dove’s doing everything, and there’s no room for me.”  Belle buried her face in his neck, muffling her final words.

Absently, Gold rubbed her back as he considered the issue.  Belle had devoted years of her life to meeting all of her father’s needs.  Now that Dove was handling all the day-to-day care-taking tasks, she felt like she’d been cut adrift.  No wonder she spent so much time in Moe’s room— she was trying to maintain that fraying connection.

“I don’t think that getting rid of Dove is the answer.  You said it yourself: he’s helping your father.”  He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger as he tried to problem-solve.  

“Dove’s great with him.  I should be _grateful_.”  Belle’s voice broke.

“You should feel however you want to feel,” he corrected her.  “Your life has been turned inside out.  Change is difficult.  There’s no shame in having trouble finding your feet.  If you feel bad, feel bad.  Cry.  Eat your weight in chocolate.  Bottling things up won’t help.”

This was a matter he had some experience with.  It had taken six months of incapacitating migraines before he finally figured out that he needed to deal with his feelings instead of just burying them in the back of his mind.  Hopefully, he could spare Belle the pain of learning that lesson the hard way.  

Belle let out a snuffly chuckle.  “How’d you get so smart?”

“Years of experience.”

She might appreciate his words of wisdom, but none of them solved the actual problem— Belle felt like she’d been shut out of Moe’s life.  “Can you do something with him?”

At her puzzled look, he tried to elaborate.  “Is there something you and your father like to do together?  Maybe from before he got sick?”  

He was willing to bet that Belle didn’t actually miss the daily drudgery of bathing her father and making sure that he ate.  For years, it had been just the two of them, and it was the closeness of that bond that she missed.  An hour of actually doing something _with_ her father would do more to keep their bond in good order than endless hours of sitting on his bed and watching him work on his project.

Belle tugged lightly on the ends of his hair as she thought about it.  “We used to play board games together.”

“Maybe you can take some time each day to do that.  I’m certain that there’s something you two could play together.”  He doubted that Moe was up for a game of chess, but the man wasn’t exactly a vegetable either.  Surely, there was something that he could play that Belle would enjoy too.  

“That sounds really nice.”  Belle smiled tremulously.  “I can’t remember the last time we were able to just have fun together.”

“And now you have the chance to do that.”  It would be difficult for Belle to rebuild her life without her father at the center of it, but they’d all be better for it in the end.

“All I do is complain.  You must think I’m really ungrateful.”  Belle’s mouth twisted as she said the words.

“Not at all,” he assured her.  He wouldn’t have minded if Belle had fallen instantly into an easy routine in her new home with her new husband, but Gold lived in the real world.  Nothing was ever easy, but that was of no consequence.  Anything worth having was worth working for, and she was definitely worth having.

“Because I really do appreciate everything that you’ve done— bringing us here, hiring Dove, buying me those beautiful clothes…”  She spoke in a rush as though fearing he’d cut her off.

“It’s fine.”  

“I know you didn’t have to do any of it—“

“Belle.  It’s _fine_.”  

“And I really did have a good time today.  I don’t want you to think that I didn’t—“

There seemed to be no stopping Belle, so Gold did the only thing he could think of to halt the flow of words.  Cupping her face in his hands, he brought his mouth down on hers, pleased when she melted into him.  They were long overdue for another “practice session”, and he could think of no better way to end a lovely day.

When he felt her hands tugging eagerly at his tie, Gold’s cock surged and he heard himself growling as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, biting harder than he should have.  Belle made a smothered noise, and as he sought to soothe her damaged lip with his tongue, she started on the buttons of his shirt, her fingers leaving trails of fire as she stroked his bare skin.

His hands fisted in her shirt, hanging on for dear life as she tweaked his nipples, the playful caress sending a jolt through his body that made his hips buck.  An instant later, she was pulling away, but her lips never left his.  Instead she rearranged herself so she was straddling him, the friction enough to bring him to full hardness, pressing insistently between her legs.  He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened so fast.

Fast.

The tiny part of Gold’s mind that was still able to think observed that all of this was happening very fast indeed, and as Belle reached for his belt, his misgivings grew.  With a gasp, he wrenched himself out of the kiss, his hand catching hold of her wrist to still her.  “Belle, what are you doing?”

Her lips were redder than usual, and it was all he could do not to pounce on her when he realized why that was the case.  “Don’t you want to?” she asked artlessly as she ran her tongue over her swollen lips.

The gesture made him throb, and Gold gritted his teeth.  There was an uncharted ocean between “Let’s practice for ‘You may kiss the bride’” and “Let’s have sex in your office,” and he wasn’t quite sure how they’d managed to cross it without him noticing.  He was missing something, and he wasn’t the kind of man who liked to miss things.

“You don’t want to wait for our wedding night?”  He sounded stuffy and Victorian to his own ears, but Belle didn’t laugh.

She shook her head.  “I already told you I’m not a virgin.”

Try as he might, Gold couldn’t see the correlation.  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I expect…”  He trailed off, having no idea how to finish that sentence.

“I don’t mind,” she told him, her voice earnest.  “We should do it before the wedding.  Just to be sure.”

His erection was subsiding, but with Belle straddling his lap, her lips gloriously kiss-swollen, thinking didn’t come easily.  “Be sure?”

“You know.  That it’s what you had in mind.”  She gave him an embarrassed smile.  “If we wait until the wedding night, it’ll be too late.”

Her words snapped him out of his lustful daze more effectively than a bucket of ice water.  She was offering him a chance to sample the goods before he bought, and the thought made him sick to his stomach.  “That won’t be necessary.”

Gold placed his hands on her waist and lifted her off of him, ignoring her baffled expression in favor of redoing his buttons.  Careful not to look at her, he cast about for his tie, finally spotting it on the floor several feet away.  

Before he could decide whether to bother with it, Belle picked it up herself, making no move to offer it to him.  “You don’t want me?”

“I’m not interested in your body as a _transaction_.”  The words came out harsher than he’d intended, but she didn’t shy away from him.

“But you want me to be your wife.  In all ways.  You’re the one who insisted on sharing a bed.”  Her words were challenging, but her voice was soft.

Gold glared down at his desk.  “I’d rather not have you at all than have you give yourself to me because you think you owe me— because I _bought_ you.”  The very idea was revolting.  

Gentle fingers touched his chin, coaxing him to lift his head.  When he did, her face was only inches away, her eyes soft.  “And if I give myself to you because I _want_ to?”

“That…”  He cleared his throat.  “That would be quite a different story.”

Belle smiled, but her eyes were glassy.  “Okay.”

She draped his tie around his neck and knotted it with careful fingers.  “I didn’t mean to offend you.  I just… I didn’t want it to be like with Greg.  Not with you.”

Earlier today, she’d confessed with shame in her eyes that she’d persuaded her previous fiancé to propose by refusing him sex until their wedding night.  That wasn’t what she wanted for them, and given that context for her actions, Gold was able to draw a complete breath as his hackles lowered.  “I understand.”

“Do you?”  

Catching hold of her hand, he lifted it to his mouth to kiss her fingers.  “I offered for you because I wanted to.  Nothing you’ve told me has changed that.  I want you to be my wife.”

Leaning closer, Belle rested her forehead against his.  “I want you to be my husband.  In all ways.”

Unable to help himself, Gold tilted his head back to brush his lips against hers, careful not to let the kiss deepen.  “And I will be.  On our wedding night.”  Right now, they were in limbo.  There was a part of Belle that still feared he would change his mind and cast her off.  It was only after they were securely married that she would be free to accept or deny him based solely on her own desires, and that meant they needed to wait.  He would have her freely or not at all.

“On our wedding night,” she agreed, her eyes warm.

She was too close and too beautiful, and if he didn’t find a distraction right now, he was never going to be able to keep his promise.  Fortunately, a glance over her shoulder presented him with a view of the chessboard, still set with the game they’d been playing over text message.  “I believe we have a game to finish.”

“What?”  

When Belle turned to follow his gaze, she laughed at the sight of the chess board.  “Oh, Diarmid,” she said fondly, turning the sound of his name into a caress.  

With a smile, she took his hand and tugged him to his feet.  “Come on then.  Let’s play chess.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Are we ready for tomorrow?”

The week had flown by, and Gold was asking the question as much to himself as to make sure that Belle had everything she needed for tomorrow’s wedding.  In less than twenty-four hours, Diarmid Gold would once again be a married man, and he _had_ to be forgetting something.  The preparations had been far too easy for such a monumental step.

Belle curled herself into a ball against the headboard as she considered the question.  “I think so.  I have my dress and your ring.  You have mine.  The officiant is meeting us at ten, and I can’t imagine I have to sign any _more_ papers.”

Her rueful smile made him chuckle.  Midas was handling all of the paperwork, but that didn’t mean they were completely off the hook.  They’d spent a solid hour in his office yesterday signing paper after paper to process their marriage, Belle’s citizenship and name change, the insurance, and all of the other odds and ends that went along with a major life change.

“Your bouquet?”  

“Dove asked me if he could handle that.”  At his questioning look, Belle shrugged.  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Since Dove was proving to be almost frighteningly competent, Gold was inclined to agree with her.  “Is there anything else you need?”  

She shook her head.  “I don’t think so.”

“In that case, I’ll say goodnight.”  He leaned down for a goodnight kiss, a ritual that— like their after dinner chess games— had developed over the past week.  Belle was a tactile person, and the little caresses and touches she offered him did more to center and ground him than anything else ever had.  This might be a marriage of convenience, but to Belle it was more than just a transaction.  Every time she touched him, she was telling him wordlessly that he _mattered_ to her.  It had been a long time since Gold had mattered to anyone.

Belle tilted her head back to return the kiss, her brow furrowing.  “You’re not coming to bed?”

“I’ll sleep in my office tonight.  I’m planning to meet Midas for breakfast.  He’ll come here after to drive you, Dove, and your father to the beach.”

Her face cleared.  “Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

Gold wasn’t superstitious and he didn’t believe in luck, but part of him clung to the tradition.  It was foolish.  He’d made certain not to catch a glimpse of Milah before she walked down the aisle, and that had ended in disaster.  There was no reason to believe that avoiding Belle for the next twelve hours would do anything to ensure their future happiness.

Still, it couldn’t hurt.

“Something like that.”

When he moved to step back, Belle caught his hand and tugged him down again.  “In that case, I need my good morning kiss in advance,” she explained.

Chuckling, Gold indulged her.  He’d never been demonstrative, but it was no hardship at all to kiss Belle.  Their practice sessions had more than paid off.

“If you need anything, text me,” he instructed before claiming a final kiss.  

He’d no more than settled himself on the sofa in his office, when his phone chirped.  He picked it up, smiling when he saw what she had written— _Good night, Diarmid.  Sweet dreams!_

He returned the sentiment before putting the phone aside and switching off the light, lying back to gaze up at the darkened ceiling.  Tomorrow at this time, Belle would share more than just his home and his bank account.  She would share his name.

Gold had been very careful to leave that decision up to Belle.  Had she opted to keep her maiden name, he never would have said a word, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been pleased when she chose to take his.  Like the kisses and her affectionate touches, it was a sign that this marriage was more than a deal to her.  She didn’t just tolerate his presence as a necessary evil; Belle wanted the same thing he did— to build a life together.

Just like him, she was in this for the long haul, and that knowledge allowed him to finally banish the sole shadow lingering over his happiness: the thought of the mysterious boy from Maine.  For the past two weeks, he’d been allowing an offhand remark made by an easily addled man to disturb him, and now Gold shook his head at himself.  If there really was a boy, Belle had made no effort to contact him since moving to Maine, so clearly he couldn’t be that important to her.  More likely, Moe had simply been confused and there’d never been a boy at all.  

Content with this determination, Gold slid easily into a dreamless sleep and woke early the next day.  He’d had the foresight to stow his toiletries in the downstairs bathroom, and he took his time with his morning ablutions, wanting to look his best.  It was his wedding day, after all.

As per his orders, the housekeeper had had his favorite suit dry cleaned, and he was satisfied with the reflection he saw in the mirror once he’d dressed himself.  No doubt the sand would play hell with his neatly polished shoes, but at least Belle would know he’d made an effort.

The thought of his bride-to-be had him glancing up at the ceiling with a smile as he strained his ears, wondering if she was doing the same thing on the floor above him.  The thought of her taking pains with her hair so she’d look pretty for him made his stomach flip.  For a year and a half, he and Belle had been casual friends, and Gold had never dared imagine that she might be willing to be more.  Now, she was going to be his _wife_.

In honor of the special occasion, Gold opted for a cinnamon roll for breakfast instead of his usual slice of toast, aware that across the table, Midas was smirking at him.  “How the mighty have fallen.”

“Excuse me?”  

“Your hands are shaking,” the other man observed.

Hastily, Gold put down the spoon he’d been using to stir his coffee.  “Nonsense.”

Midas held his hands up in a conciliatory fashion.  “She’s marvelous, Diarmid.  I wish the two of you nothing but happiness.”

“She is, isn’t she?”  Gold took a sip of his coffee, his eyes going unfocused as he thought about his bride.  He’d learned more about Belle in two weeks than he had in the previous eighteen months, and everything he learned only made him admire her more.  He’d chosen well.

Midas chuckled.  “You need a woman who can give you a run for your money.”

Gold wasn’t entirely sure he approved of that sentiment.  “Belle will be the ideal wife.”

Although Midas’s eyes sparkled with mirth, the other man made no reply, choosing to redirect the conversation to the more pressing matter of Belle and Moe’s citizenship.  Straightening that out was going to be an absolute bear, but like any other problem, throwing enough money at the issue would eventually make it go away.  In the meantime, Gold dared anyone to try to deport his wife.  He’d waited far too long for Belle to be separated from her now.

As they finished their meal, Midas glanced down at his watch and blanched.  “I’d better get going unless you want your wife to be late for your wedding.”

“Tell her that I look forward to seeing her.”  When Gold reached for his wallet, Midas waved him off.

“It’s my treat.  You don’t get married every day.”

With that, he was off, leaving Gold to get himself to the beach to ensure all was in readiness.  He hoped Belle would be pleased with the driftwood arch he’d arranged to have erected on their chosen spot.  

When he reached the beach, he nodded in satisfaction.  The arch was standing in readiness, decorated with swags of white silk and accented with sunflowers, Belle’s favorite flower.  Beneath it waited Archie Hopper, the officiant Gold had chosen largely through process of elimination.  

“A beautiful day for a wedding!” Hopper chirped as soon as he was within earshot.  

Indeed it was.  The weather had cooperated, never a guarantee in Maine.  The sun was just warm enough to offset the breeze coming off the water, and the clouds dotting the blue sky were innocuously white and fluffy, promising a fine day.  

Everything was exactly as it should be, which meant that he had nothing to do but wait.  Gold stuck his hand into his jacket pocket to finger Belle’s ring, verifying that the platinum circlet was still there.  With his free hand, he smoothed his hair back where the breeze had ruffled it, annoyed to note that Hopper was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

He resisted the urge to check his watch.

Finally, after what seemed like several years of waiting, Midas’s car appeared in the distance, and Gold’s eyes tracked it until it had pulled in next to the Cadillac and Belle stepped out of the vehicle.

“Oh,” he murmured, dimly feeling Hopper clasp his upper arm.

She was wearing the green shirtdress that they’d picked out together during their visit to Ariel’s boutique, the one that she’d decided was his favorite.  Her hair was swept up and held in place with sparkling combs, the style more elaborate than anything he’d ever seen on her.  Instead of risking her neck by wearing high heels on the rocky beach, she’d opted for sensible tennis shoes, and when she caught him looking, she waved her foot at him, her smile breathtaking.

Moe was looking around with interest, but he fell into step without argument when Belle looped her arm through his and headed for the archway, Midas and Dove following a pace behind.  In her hands, she held a bouquet of something that glittered in the sunlight, but it wasn’t until she got closer that Gold realized what she was holding.  In place of actual flowers, she had half a dozen roses that had been formed of carefully shaped metal, all held together with a white silk ribbon, and Gold would have bet every cent he had that Dove and Moe had made them for her.

A lump formed in his throat at the gesture, and he swallowed it with effort, refusing to let his own dark thoughts intrude on this day.  What would it be like to have a loving parent’s blessing on his wedding day?  What would it be like to give his blessing to his own child one day?  

There was no point in thinking such things when his bride was walking toward him, her eyes shining.  “It’s _beautiful_ ,” she mouthed, clearly aware that she was still too far away to be heard over the pounding surf.

“So are you,” he mouthed back, his stomach flipping over when she blushed.

Suddenly, she was in front of him, and when Gold reached out for her, her hand slipped into his as naturally as breath.  He barely heard Hopper clear his throat and begin, “Welcome, friends.”

As per Gold’s instructions, it was a simple, modern ceremony celebrating the fact that two people had chosen to join their lives together while saying as little as possible about love.  In less than ten minutes, they’d exchanged rings and vows, and it seemed that no time at all passed before Hopper was telling him that he could kiss his bride.

Slipping his arm around Belle’s waist, Gold did just that, his spirit thrilling to the thought that he was kissing his _wife_.  Her lips were soft and warm beneath his, and he could feel her smiling.  She was his now, and they were going to make this work.  This marriage would be different.  Belle would be everything that Milah wasn’t— friend and partner and support, just as he would be for her.  He would give her everything she wanted, and in return, she would fill up all of the places in his life that had been empty for far too long.

“When are we leaving?”

Belle broke away from the kiss with a laugh at her father’s complaint.  Eyes shining, she turned to face him without moving out of Gold’s embrace.  “I’m _married_ , Dad!”

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell Belle?” Dove prompted Moe gently.

“I want to go home,” he informed her.

Dove gave them an apologetic smile before he leaned down to meet Moe’s eyes.  “Belle just got married.  What do you want to say to her?”

Belle held up her metal bouquet as though reminding her father that he’d made it, and Moe’s face brightened.  “Oh yes!  Congratulations!”

Gold smiled indulgently as his wife threw herself into her father’s arms, hugging Moe hard.  The older man patted her back carefully, looking a little confused, but there was something beautiful in the way he rested his chin against the crown of her head.  

“Congratulations, Diarmid,” Midas said quietly, distracting him from his perusal of his bride.

“Thank you.”  He accepted his lawyer’s proffered hand.

“Don’t screw this one up,” Midas advised with a chuckle before turning to Belle who’d just released her father.  “And congratulations to you too, Mrs. Gold.”

“Mrs. Gold,” Belle repeated, shaking her head in wonder.  “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“It suits you,” Hopper informed her.

Belle looped her arm through Gold’s elbow and glanced up at him through her eyelashes.  “I think so too.”

At that, he had to kiss her again, and by the time he’d finished, Midas and Hopper were halfway to their cars while Dove and Moe tactfully explored the shoreline.  “I’m going to like being married,” Belle announced.

“Are you now?”

“Mm-hmm.  Now that you’re my husband, you have to kiss me whenever I want.”

Gold laughed aloud at her proclamation.  “I think I can handle that.”

He rather hoped she would decide that another kiss was exactly what she wanted, but Belle half-turned to look at her father instead.  He and Dove were leaning down to inspect the rocks that comprised the shoreline, the wind ruffling his thinning hair.  “I’m glad he could be here.  I’m not sure how much he understands what’s going on, but I’m just _really_ glad he could come to our wedding.”

“I think he understands quite a bit.”  Most of the time, Moe was distracted with his own thoughts, but Gold was willing to bet that he was taking in more than he seemed to.  

“He made these.”  Belle held up her bouquet.  “I couldn’t believe it.”

Up close, the metal roses were even more impressive.  Gold traced the edge of one petal with his fingertip.  “The workmanship is exquisite.”

“He used to do things like this all the time.”  Belle’s smile was sad.  “I’m glad Dove’s helping him get back to that.”

“Dove may have helped him, but he made those flowers for _you_ ,” Gold reminded her, refusing to let her feel guilty for any perceived failings.  “You inspire him.”

Belle’s eyes glittered with tears, and before he could wipe them away, she slipped her hand into her pocket to retrieve a very familiar square of blue silk to blot her eyes.  Catching him looking, she gave him an embarrassed smile.  “I borrowed one of your hankies.  I hope you don’t mind.”

The thought that she’d chosen to carry one of his pocket squares with her during their wedding warmed him.  “I don’t mind at all.  What’s mine is yours.  Keep it.”

“No!”  Her eyes widened with distress.  “I’ll give it back.  I just wanted to borrow it, that’s all.”

“Belle…”  Gold cast about for some reason that she should look so horrified about the idea of keeping the pocket square.  In the grand scheme of things, it was hardly a valuable object.  

His wife glanced down at her feet.  “My shoes are old.”

The non sequitur made him blink, then understanding dawned.  “Your dress is new.”

“I didn’t have anything blue or borrowed, so I killed two birds with one stone.”  Belle gave the pocket square a little wave, making it dance in the breeze.

“Very efficient.”  Gold plucked the silk square out of her hand and tucked it safely in his jacket pocket.  “Thank you for returning it.”

She sighed in relief the moment he took it from her.  “I know it’s stupid, but…”

“I’m the one who chose to sleep in his office last night,” Gold reminded her.  They’d both indulged in a bit of magical thinking, but what of it?  Considering their unconventional start, there was something comforting about honoring those traditions.

“Exactly!  I knew you’d understand.”  Belle leaned into him, her head against his shoulder.  “You’re a good husband.”

“I try.”  When the sun dipped behind a cloud, the change in temperature was immediately perceptible.  Gold doffed his jacket to wrap it around her shoulders when she shivered.  “Are you ready to go home?”

“In a minute.”  

Belle ducked away from him to examine the rocks at her feet with an intent expression.  Gold watched, nonplussed, as she picked up several to look at more closely before discarding them again.  “What are you doing?”

She crowed with delight when she picked up a perfectly round stone so pale gray that it was almost white.  Tucking the stone into her skirt pocket, she stood to face him again.  “I wanted a memento.”

She wanted something to help her remember this day, and Gold’s heart beat a little faster in his chest at the romantic gesture.  “That’s a lovely idea.”

“Now I’m ready.”  Belle leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth.  “All right, husband mine.  Let’s go home.”


	16. Chapter 16

Gold leaned against the wall outside Moe’s room with Dove beside him, the two of them watching silently as Belle carefully backed out of her father’s room and closed the door behind her.  “I think he’s asleep.”

In hindsight, having Moe attend the wedding had been a mistake.  Gold already knew that the other man reacted badly to changes to his schedule or in his environment, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that spending the morning at the beach watching his only daughter get married was a very big change indeed.

While it meant the world to Belle that her father was able to attend her wedding, Gold was wondering if it had been worth it.  The moment they’d returned to the house, Moe had been determined to leave it again, voicing his desire to return to Australia where he believed his wife was waiting for him, and even the hyper-competent Dove had been unable to get him settled.  Watching Belle remind her father, tears in her eyes, that her mother had passed decades ago made him sick to his stomach.

It would have been bad enough had it only happened once, but Moe’s distress made it even harder for his addled mind to retain information.  By the third time Belle finished explaining that her mother had passed, he’d been ready to shake the other man senseless.  Only knowing that it would only upset Belle more if he lost his temper allowed Gold to maintain his self-control.

It wasn’t at all how he’d envisioned his wedding day.

Prior to the wedding, Gold had amused himself with making plans for how he and Belle would spend the remainder of their day.  After dropping off Moe and Dove, he’d intended to take Belle to the cabin so they could have some time to themselves, far away from prying eyes.  While he doubted she would be in a hurry to consummate their marriage, they could at least discuss their respective ideas for their future before coming home to a glorious dinner about which he’d left detailed instructions for the housekeeper.  

Unfortunately, it had become obvious almost immediately that all of Gold’s plans were for naught.  Instead of having time to adjust to being husband and wife, they’d spent the day chasing Moe around the house in an effort to calm him, then dealing with his paranoid breakdown when he wasn’t allowed to leave.  The older man was surprisingly strong, and Dove had a livid bruise on his cheekbone to prove it.

In the end, Belle had barricaded both of them in Moe’s room, leaving Gold and Dove cooling their heels in the hallway for over an hour until she finally emerged, her face pinched and drawn.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gold, I must apologize,” Dove began after Belle announced that Moe was finally asleep, the big man looking stricken.  “It’s your wedding day, and—“

Belle waved off his apology.  “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Gold reassured him.  Dove had a seemingly limitless bag of tricks for dealing with Moe.  It was just bad luck that today Belle’s father had proven immune to all of them.  

“You’re not a magician, Dove.”  Belle gave him a tired smile.  “Dad’s stubborn.”

The big man looked miserable.  “If you wish to deduct today’s pay from my wages, that would be understandable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Hell, you earned hazard pay.”  Gold had half-expected him to demand a raise after getting smacked in the face, and he wouldn’t have argued.  Dove was too honorable for his own good.

When Dove looked like he was preparing to argue, Belle stretched herself up on tiptoes to aim a kiss at his bruised cheek, forcing the big man to stoop so she could reach.  “Get some sleep,” she advised.  “Tomorrow will be a better day.”

She waited until Dove had retreated to his own room before slumping against the wall next to Gold.  “I bet this isn’t what you had in mind for today.”

“Not really, but like you said: tomorrow will be a better day.”  He did his best to sound cheerfully optimistic, something that came as naturally to Gold as flight.

Belle shuddered and pressed herself against his side.  “You’re… a _really_ good husband.”

Gold dropped a kiss on the top of her head and patted her back.  “Yes, I am.  Come on now.  There’s no sense standing around in the hall when we have a perfectly comfortable bedroom.”

With a weak chuckle, Belle allowed herself to be coaxed into following him.  Once they’d closed the door behind them, she seemed to perk up, moving briskly to her dresser only to slump again once she’d opened the drawer.

“Belle?”

“It’s our wedding night.”

It was more like their wedding evening.  It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, but Gold felt like he’d done a week’s worth of hard labor.  He couldn’t imagine how Belle had managed Moe alone for so many years when a single day was enough to leave him drained and exhausted.  “Yes, it is.”

Rifling through her drawer, she came up with a set of green cotton pajamas with little cartoon dinosaurs on them.  Her mouth twisted when she held them up for his appraisal.

To Gold, the pajamas looked much like the rest of her nightwear.  In fact, he was fairly certain that he’d seen this particular set before.  “Dinosaurs.”

“I’ve had these since college.  I’ve had all of them since college.  It’s our _wedding_ night.”  She turned distressed eyes on him.

Try as he might, Gold couldn’t see her point.  “Is there something wrong with them?”

“I can’t wear _dinosaur pajamas_ on our wedding night!  I should have gone shopping.  I should have bought something nice… silk or lace or _something_.  I’m sorry, Diarmid.”

To his horror, her voice was breaking like she was about to cry.  Moving as swiftly as he could, Gold crossed the bedroom to take the pile of fabric from her hands.  This wasn’t about pajamas, not really.  He’d found Moe’s agitation difficult, but Belle had by far taken the brunt of it.  It had been a grueling day, and now she was upset and on edge, leaving him to defuse the situation.  “I like them.”

When she gaped at him, he gave her a gentle nudge toward the bathroom.  “Go and get ready for bed.  Are you hungry?”

Downstairs there was crab cocktail and lacquered quail waiting to be eaten with a bottle of very expensive champagne.  He hadn’t pictured eating that dinner in bed, but perhaps some of his plans for the day could be salvaged, if unconventionally.

Belle rested her hand on her stomach.  “I think so.  Mostly I feel nauseous.”  

Neither of them had eaten since breakfast, and his own stomach was complaining about that fact.  He was willing to bet Belle’s stomachache was due to stress, but eating would help.  Crab, quail, and champagne were probably out though.

“I’ll fetch us something from the kitchen while you get changed.  And I insist on the dinosaurs.”

Her eyes went glassy, but she smiled for him, her shoulders drooping as some of the tension left her body.  He leaned down to accept a kiss on the cheek, waiting until she’d disappeared into the bathroom before heading for the stairs.

Bland foods, Gold reminded himself as he sorted through the contents of the refrigerator, coming up with a wedge of mild cheddar cheese and most of a baguette.  The wedding feast could wait until tomorrow, as could the champagne.  Instead, he unearthed two bottles of beer, hoping that the carbonation would settle Belle’s stomach while the alcohol would help her sleep.  

With the help of a tray, he was able to carry everything upstairs, pausing in the hall for long moments to listen for any sound that Moe was stirring.  To his relief, all was quiet.

Belle had turned out all of the lights save for the one on her nightstand and was sitting up in bed with the covers drawn up to her waist and a book in her lap, her face flushed and shiny.  With her hair spilling over her shoulders and her dinosaur print pajama top, she looked about sixteen.  

Before he could explore the prick of guilt that stabbed his gut at that thought, Belle glanced up, her face lighting up at the sight of him or, more likely, at the sight of the food.  “That looks _amazing_.”

As she placed the book on her nightstand, he settled the tray next to her.  “Go ahead and start.  I’ll go get changed and join you in a moment.”

Gold had no more than closed the bathroom door behind him when a loud _thwack_ had him darting back out, expecting to see Moe in the doorway and the pieces of something valuable on the floor.  Instead he found Belle standing next to the dresser, a bottle of beer in hand and a surprised look on her face.  “You forgot to bring a bottle opener,” she explained.

He blinked, not certain that his oversight was deserving of a tantrum.  At his baffled expression, Belle grinned at him and took hold of the other bottle, bracing the cap against the edge of the dresser before bringing her hand down in a sharp blow.  Triumphantly, she held the bottle up, demonstrating that she’d popped the cap off with her bare hands.

“Told you— best drinker in my freshman dorm.”  She sounded smug about it.

Gold chuckled.  “You’re an absolute philistine.”

Belle’s laugh told him that she’d taken the teasing in the intended spirit.  Shaking his head, he returned to the bathroom, deciding at the last minute not to bother shaving.  Much as he would have liked to spend this night strewing the sheets with rose petals and licking champagne off his wife’s bare skin, Gold was reasonably sure that they’d both be lucky if they even finished their snack before falling asleep.

When he rejoined Belle, he found a bottle of beer waiting on his nightstand and the covers neatly turned down on his side of the bed.  The tray of food was in her lap, apparently untouched.  “Not hungry?”

“I wanted to wait for you,” she told him sweetly.  “I can’t eat our wedding feast without my husband.”

Touched, Gold slipped into bed beside her, his hip pressed against hers.  “It’s not much of a feast.”

Belle tore off a piece of bread and added a thick slice of cheese before handing it to him, then did the same for herself, sighing blissfully as she bit into it.  “I disagree,” she mumbled around her mouthful.

Once he’d taken his own bite, Gold tended to agree with her.  The food wasn’t fancy, but it was tasty.  More importantly, he was eating it in his own bed with his wife beside him, and for the moment all was right with their world.  In comparison to that luxury, feasts were overrated.  

For long minutes, they did nothing but eat and drink, the food disappearing at a rapid pace.  Gold hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating, and Belle was matching him bite for bite.  The little growling noises she made as she devoured the snack went straight to his groin, and maybe he should have shaved after all.

“What _did_ you have planned for today?” she asked as they finished the last few bites.

“I was going to take you to the cabin.”

“You have a cabin?” Belle’s eyes brightened with interest.

“No, _we_ have a cabin,” he reminded her.  “It’s in the woods— nice and secluded with a creek nearby deep enough for swimming.”

“Oh, that sounds _wonderful_.”  Belle sighed, then slanted a look up at him through her eyelashes.  “And what were we going to do at this cabin?”

Her voice was arch, and for an instant, Gold was certain that she was flirting with him.  Then she yawned loudly, nearly upending the tray in her haste to slap both hands over her mouth, her expression mortified.

Gold chuckled.  “Whatever we were going to do, we can do it tomorrow.”

“I’m _sorry_.  It’s not even late.”  

“No, but it’s been a long day for both of us.”  He lifted the tray off her lap.

“It’s our _wedding_ night.”  She sounded so chagrined that he had to kiss her, a quick brush of lips.

“We’ll still be married tomorrow.  And every day hereafter.  There’s no need to rush.”  Just the fact that she seemed willing to share herself with him was enough to satisfy him for now.

Belle gave him a rueful look.  “I’ll probably enjoy it more if I can stay awake.”

When he moved to get out of bed, meaning to get the tray out of the way by putting it on the dresser, she grabbed his wrist.  “Where are you going?”

“I don’t really want to sleep with the tray.  Do you?”  

With an embarrassed smile, she released him.  “No, I guess not.  I was just afraid you were planning to sleep in your office again.”

After the drama involved in getting her to share his bed instead of her father’s room, the idea that she’d missed him last night was comforting.  “You didn’t like sleeping alone?”

Belle followed him with her eyes as he carried the tray across the room.  “Not really.”

“Oh?”  More than anything, he wanted to hear more about that, but Gold wasn’t sure how to ask.

Once he was next to her again, Belle took pity on him.  “It’s silly.  I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it felt so strange not having you next to me.  I couldn’t get comfortable.  And your house makes some seriously weird noises in the middle of the night.

“It’s just the furnace,” he assured her, a warm glow filling him at the thought that she liked having him next to her in the bed.

“Whatever it was, it was creepy and weird,” she declared, waiting until he’d assumed his normal sleeping position before switching off the light and tucking herself against his side, the curve of her bottom pressed against his hip.

Gold swallowed a sigh as a wave of contentment washed over him.  “Well, I’m here now, and I’ll protect you from the scary noises.”

Belle huffed a soft laugh.  “I know you will.  That’s what you do.”

“Hm?”  He couldn’t remember her ever mentioning a fear of the dark before.

“You protect me.  You make things better.”  Her words were soft, almost lost to the darkness.

A lump rose in Gold’s throat at her simple declaration of faith.  He’d done so little for her— put a roof over her head and given her access to his bank account so she could provide for her father.  A good man would have done that and more without asking anything for himself, but there was a price for Gold’s generosity.  For the first time, he regretted that.

Swallowing hard, he pushed the thought away.  Belle was his wife, and she seemed happy enough about it.  He hadn’t forced her into anything— he’d given her a choice, and she chose him.  There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , wrong with watching out for his own interests.  No one else would.  Their marriage might be based on a deal, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be successful.  He would treat her well and give her everything her heart desired.  Not every wife could say that.  

If Moe didn’t exist and he’d simply asked her to marry him one day out of the blue, she would have turned him down.  This way was better.  This way, they both got what they wanted.

“I’ll be a good husband,” he promised because he had to say something.  Milah had found him wanting almost from the first day, but Belle wasn’t Milah.  He would be able to please Belle.

“You already are.”  After that, Belle went quiet for so long that he thought she’d fallen asleep.

Gold closed his own eyes and allowed himself to think of nothing save for the warmth of Belle beside him in the bed.  He was just on the verge of sleep when she spoke again.  “Diarmid?”

“Yeah?”  His accent sounded so thick to his own ears that he wondered if she’d be able to understand it.

“Could you…?”

When she trailed off, Gold opened his eyes, sleep slipping away from him.  “What?  Can I what?”

Instead of answering him, she reached back and grabbed hold of his arm, giving it a tug to ask him to roll onto his side.  Baffled, Gold did as she requested, and Belle made a happy noise as she pressed herself into the curve of his body and wrapped his arm around her waist, wordlessly demanding that he spoon her.

This time, Gold was unable to suppress his sigh as he melted into her, her soft curls tickling his face.  Gently, he splayed his hand over her belly, feeling her warmth through the thin cotton of her dinosaur-print pajamas.

“That feels nice,” Belle said drowsily.

Nice didn’t begin to describe it.  This was exactly what he’d wanted the very first night they’d shared a bed and hadn’t dared do.  Leave it to Belle to give him everything he could want without him even having to ask.  “Yeah, it does.”

He wasn’t the sort of man who craved physical contact.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had anything more than a purely carnal encounter with a woman.  Even those encounters were few and far between, and they certainly hadn’t involved cuddling in the aftermath.  Gold had never felt the lack.

Yet now as he lay in the dark with Belle— with his _wife_ — in his arms, Gold felt that he could be content with nothing more than this for the rest of his life. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant.  

“Good night, sweetheart.”

When a soft snore answered him, Gold pressed a kiss to her hair, then closed his eyes and followed Belle into sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Gold opened his eyes and frowned up at the ceiling as he tried to figure out why he was awake.

His internal clock was reliable, waking him each morning at seven.  Without even turning his head to glance at the clock, he knew that it wasn’t yet time to start the day.  The room was filled by the deep, silent blackness that came only in the middle of the night when every other person in the world was lost in their own dreams, leaving him feeling alone and adrift with only his own dark thoughts to keep him company.

If Gold ruled the world, four in the morning would be banished from the clock, but since that wasn’t possible, he’d simply trained himself to sleep through the night.  Bad memories couldn’t assail him if he wasn’t awake to face them.

To his surprise, his unpleasant thoughts remained at bay, and he suddenly registered that he wasn’t alone in the night.  Instead, Belle was pressed against him, her warmth keeping him silent company.  Although he’d fallen asleep spooning her, at some point he’d rolled onto his back, and she’d followed him, draping her arm around his waist and pillowing her head against his shoulder.  

Her touch anchored him in the moment, keeping him from slipping back into the past.  His mind didn’t need to occupy itself with dredging up every bad decision he’d ever made when instead it could catalogue the warmth of her breath against his throat and the soft caress of her hand as it moved slowly over his chest.

Oh.   _That’s_ what woke him.

“Belle?”

He kept his voice pitched low so as not to wake her in case he was mistaken and her caresses were only a product of her sleeping state, but she answered him at once.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to wake you.  Or maybe I did.”

Until two weeks ago, Belle had worked well into the night and then come home to attend to her father’s needs.  She probably faced four in the morning on a regular basis, and Gold hoped it didn’t have the same effect on her as it did for him.  “Is something wrong?”

Dove’s presence was meant to prevent Moe from outbursts that would disturb Belle’s sleep, but Gold was starting to realize that he had only the vaguest control over what happened in his house.  Of course, if Moe was agitated, Belle probably wouldn’t be lying quietly beside him, slipping her hand under the hem of his pajama top to stroke his bare chest.

“No, nothing.  I just woke up and got to thinking.”  

“Oh?”  Belle was drawing concentric circles around his nipple, moving closer and then further away without ever actually touching it, and he was so focused on what her fingers were doing that he could scarcely keep track of the conversation.  “About what?”

“I was thinking…”  When she grazed just the tip of her finger over his nipple, the shock of sensation made his neck arch helplessly, grinding the back of his head into his pillow.  “That it’s our wedding night.”

“Aye.  It is.”  He barely recognized the strangled voice as his own.

“Do you like that?”  She sounded more curious than seductive as she flicked her finger over the tight bud again.

“ _Yes_ …” he gritted out.  Had she asked, Gold would have told her that he preferred rougher handling, but Belle’s featherlight touches were setting him aflame.

“Good.”  

His eyes were slowly starting to adjust to the darkness, and he saw her smile as she shifted position, draping herself halfway across his stomach as she slid her other hand under his pajama top.  “Not all men have sensitive nipples.  I’m glad you do.”

With flicks and taps, Belle set to work proving just how sensitive he was, coaxing his nipples to shrink into hard tight buds.  “Oh yeah…” she breathed, gazing down raptly at where his flesh was pebbled, visible through the thin cotton of his pajama top.  “God, that’s so sexy.”

With a dreamy smile, she lowered her head, and Gold was forced to grab hold of handfuls of the bedclothes as Belle parted her plush lips, closing them around his aching nipple to suck.  “ _Belle_.”

She made a breathy sound through her nose and sucked harder, letting his other nipple join in the fun by pinching it sharply between thumb and forefinger. The sensation went straight to his cock, and Gold almost wept when she eased off, soothing him with gentle stokes before pinching again.

“ _More_ ,” he demanded, his voice harsh and hungry.   This wasn’t what he’d envisioned for their first time.  In his mind’s eye, he’d pictured hours of gentle foreplay as he slowly won Belle over to the idea of sharing herself with him.  He’d never imagined that she’d be so forthright, her clever fingers torturing his sensitive flesh, alternating her pinches with soft bites from her sharp little teeth that made him want to grunt and yell and drive his fingers into her hair so he could hold her down and never let her stop.

A twisting pull from her fingers made his hips buck, the weight of the covers not providing nearly enough stimulation.  Every time she dragged her teeth over him, his cock twitched, growing hotter and harder even though she’d yet to touch him below the waist.

Belle lifted her head and pursed her lips to blow a cool stream of air over the wet patch her mouth had made on his pajama top.  The sensation was almost unbearably cold against his hot skin, and the growl that escaped his mouth was loud in the quiet room, the noise shockingly primal.

Instead of shrinking from him, Belle looked up, beaming like he’d done something wonderful.  “That’s it.  God, you’re so eager.  You want me, don’t you, Diarmid?  Do you want me to ride you?”

When she reached down to stroke his cock, Gold blessed the layer of fabric that blunted the sensation just enough to allow him to hold on to his sanity.  “Wait.”

Instantly, Belle removed her hands from him and sat back, and for an embarrassing moment he wanted to weep at the loss of her touch.   “I’m sorry.  I thought…”

More than anything, Gold wanted Belle to do exactly what she’d offered to do— climb on top of him and ride him into blissful oblivion.  Yet, there was something off here, something not quite right, and that couldn’t be allowed.

“You know you don’t have to do this.  Just because we’re married, I don’t expect…” He trailed off, not sure how to finish that thought.  Belle was under the protection of his name and fortune now, and that wouldn’t change whether or not they ever consummated their marriage.  Gold had to be certain that she knew that because nothing was more revolting than the thought that she would give him her body because she thought she had to.  “I’m your husband, not your owner.”

“I’m not doing this because you’re my husband.  I’m doing this because you’re _Diarmid_.”  With two simple sentences, Belle alleviated all of his fears.  She did desire him, unbelievable as that was.  Any favors she granted him were granted freely.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him.  “Are you done being silly?”

Gold chuckled. “I suppose so.”  If his wife wanted to spend their wedding night engaging in more entertaining pastimes than sleep, he wasn’t going to argue with her.

“Good.  Now, where were we?”  When her fingers found his nipple again, Gold shuddered.

“Right about there.”

He allowed the touch for a few glorious moments, but it was hardly gentlemanly to let her do all of the work.  When Belle leaned down to mouth at him, he took advantage of her distraction to tip her onto her back, the way she clutched at his shoulders making him feel ten feet tall.  

“What are you doing?”  She sounded breathless.

“I thought I might return the favor.”  Slowly, he traced his hand up her side, not quite touching her breast.  

“ _Oh_ … I think I might like that.”  Her eyelashes fluttered as she shifted.

Taking his cue from her, Gold did his best to mimic the way she’d touched him— light and gentle to start.  When her nipple hardened, the sight of the tight bud sent a jolt through him, making him understand why she’d reacted the way she did to to the sight of him.  Belle was aroused— aroused because he was touching her— and there was nothing more erotic than that.

She arched her back, pressing herself more firmly into his hand, and it was all Gold could do not to pounce on her.  “You fit my hand perfectly… so soft…”

Beneath him, Belle moaned and tossed her head.  “Keep talking.”

Eager to please, he pressed his mouth against the shell of her ear to whisper filthy compliments as his hands explored her curves, trying to learn every inch of her.  In the dim light, he could scarcely see what he was doing, but that only made it more intimate.  Every bit of her was a new revelation, and his hands were eager to chart this unmapped territory.

When he pinched her nipple, Belle hissed and rolled onto her side, draping her leg over his hip.  Even through two layers of fabric he could feel her heat, and Gold nearly bit through his tongue as his cock surged, straining against her.

Belle laughed breathlessly.  “We’re overdressed.”

“That we are.”  

When she pulled away to tug her pajama top off over her head, Gold wasn’t sure whether to rejoice or mourn when she promptly rolled back into his arms without showing any inclination to turn on the light.  He’d had more than a few fantasies about Belle’s naked body and his need to look at her made his hands shake.  At the same time, turning on the light meant that _she_ would be able to see _him_ , and Gold was less sanguine about that.  

For an instant, the thought of Belle’s boy from Maine popped into his head, and even though he promptly banished the idea, the shadow of it darkened his mood.  Was Belle simply shy or did she prefer darkness because it made it easier for her to pretend she was with someone else?  

“You don’t want the light?” he heard himself ask before he’d consciously decided to do so.

Belle’s fingers, which had been busy unbuttoning his pajama top, stilled.  “Do you?”

She’d neatly lobbed the ball back into his court.  “Why wouldn’t I want to see my beautiful wife?”

“ _Oh_ …”  Belle sighed, her lips finding his in the darkness.  “Okay, give me a second.”

When she tried to pull out of his embrace, Gold held on tighter.  “Where are you going?”

“I didn’t braid my hair last night.”

She said the sentence like it held the answer to all of the universe’s nagging questions.  Gold was baffled.  “And?”

“Do you have any idea how awful my hair looks in the morning when I don’t braid it?” she demanded.  “I’d like to at least get through the honeymoon before you see me looking my worst.  Let me go brush it, then we’ll turn on the light.”

Gold buried his face in her hair to muffle his laugh of relief.  There was no mystery here.  Belle had no ulterior motive.  His wife preferred darkness because she was self-conscious about her hair, ridiculous as that seemed to him.  “Your hair is beautiful.”

“You have _no_ idea,” she cautioned, her voice dark.

“Leave it off.”  There would be other encounters where he could drink in the sight of her.  Right now, letting go of her even long enough for her to brush her hair felt like too much to endure.

In his arms, he felt her relax.  “Thank you.”

“Silly girl,” he said fondly.  The notion that Belle could ever be self-conscious about her looks was startling, considering how obviously perfect she was to him.  At the same time, it made him feel almost fiercely protective of her.  He looked forward to the day when she trusted him enough to let him see her at what she considered her worst so he could tell her how beautiful she was.

Clever fingers snuck down to pinch his bum.  “Who are you calling silly?”

Gold’s breath caught.  “I forget.”

Belle made a satisfied noise at his response.  “Your nipples are sensitive.  Anything else?”

That was the only warning he had before she boldly palmed his ass, taking hold of a handful of flesh and squeezing hard, the pressure making his hips buck into her.  “You’re hard,” she marveled like it was the first time she’d noticed.

With her plastered against him, Gold had no idea how she could expect otherwise.  Releasing her with effort, he finished the job she’d started and freed himself from his pajama top, groaning in pleasure when he yanked her back into his arms to feel her bare skin pressed against his.

“You feel so _good_ ,” she sighed happily, and her simple praise made his throat ache.  What had Belle’s previous lovers offered her if such minor things pleased her so much?

“Let me touch you,” he begged.  Once he’d worried about his ability to live up to the standard set by her past partners, but now he was determined to please her more than anyone else ever had— not because it was a competition but because she _deserved_ to feel pleasure.

Tipping her onto her back, he hovered over her, trying to decide where to start.  Her ear was directly in front of his mouth and that seemed like as good a place as any.  Taking her earlobe between his teeth, he tugged gently before tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue, pausing to whisper, “You’re exquisite.”

From there, he worked his way down, mapping territory previously charted by his hands with his lips.  Beneath him, Belle sighed and wriggled, her fingers finding their way into his hair, the touch grounding him.  When she tugged, Gold knew that he’d done well, and that wordless praise was the highest compliment he’d ever received.

He could have spent hours feasting on her breasts, but that would be indulging his desires, not hers.  Instead he worked his way lower, freezing when he reached the waistband of her pajama pants and Belle’s grip on his hair tightened so much that he feared she’d yank a handful out, her body tensing.  This wasn’t excitement.  

“Belle?”

“You…”  Her voice cracked.  “You don’t have to do that.”

It was an odd choice of words.  “I _want_ to do that.  Very much.  However, if you object, we’ll do something else.”

She sat up on her elbows, and even in the dim light, he could see the disbelief on her face.  “You _want_ to?”

In that moment, Gold wished he could get his hands on her past lovers.  “You are my wife.  I can imagine nothing that would please me more than giving you pleasure.”

“ _Oh_.  That’s so…”  Belle let her hand slip from his hair to caress his jaw.  

Catching her hand in his, Gold brought it to his mouth to kiss her fingers.  “Would you rather we did something else?”

She stared at him for so long that he wondered if he’d actually asked the question aloud.  Then she lay back, her hand twitching in his grasp.  “Maybe… just a little?”

He wasn’t sure what “just a little” oral sex looked like, but Gold trusted that she would let him know.  With another kiss to her hand, he released her, pleased when she lifted her hips to help him tug her pajama pants off.

Not for the first time, he longed for a light.  His wife was naked in his bed, her body waiting for his touch, and he didn’t want to miss a single thing about this moment.  But Belle was shy, and he wouldn’t press her.  Instead, he would simply indulge his other senses.

The first was smell. Inhaling deeply, he took her in, her rich scent making his bones turn to water.  Hypnotized, he leaned closer, hearing her harsh intake of breath when he buried his nose in her nest of soft, damp curls.  

From there, all that was left was taste, and Gold set to work learning every nuance of her flavor, bright and sharp at first then growing musky sweet as he delved deeper into her folds.  Above him, Belle yelped and clutched at his hair, and this time there was nothing but delight in her touch.

He went slowly, easing her into it, and when she didn’t push him away, Gold allowed himself to grow bolder, bringing every bit of his experience to bear in an attempt to give her something no other lover ever had.  To that end, he made no effort to muffle his own noises, hoping that his own groans and growls would assure her that this act pleased him every bit as much as it pleased her.

He was careful not to tease, to do nothing that would stress her or make her uncomfortable, and when her body quivered with her release, Gold felt a burst of pride unlike anything he’d ever experienced.  He’d pleased his wife.

Once he’d coaxed her through it, he kissed his way back up her body, trying not to be distracted by the way her chest was heaving.  “How are you enjoying your wedding night?”

“Oh, Diarmid…”  Belle snuggled into his arms like she was trying to burrow into his body, and he hoped that was a good sign.

When she pressed close enough to feel his erection straining against her belly, Belle froze, jerking her head up.  “You really did like that!”

Gold chuckled and rubbed himself against her.  “Did you think I was lying?”

“No, not lying.  Just… being nice.  But you weren’t.  Doing that… it turned you on.”  She sounded like she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying.

“How could it not?  Touching you… tasting you… how could that _not_ arouse me?”  He wanted to weep at what her words unwittingly revealed about her past.

He gasped when she reached down to cup him.  “Can we do more?” she requested shyly.

If he hadn’t been so aroused, Gold would have laughed at the idea that she thought he might argue with her.  “We can do whatever you want.”

“Do you have a favorite position?”  

Her question made him choke on his own saliva.  “I think you mentioned something about riding me?”

While that wasn’t quite his favorite position, he was fond enough of it, especially because of the way it took pressure off of his bad leg.  More importantly, it would let Belle set the pace for their encounter.

When she spoke, he could hear the smile in her voice.  “I think I did.”

Working together they freed him from his pajama pants, and Gold drew up his good knee in an effort to give Belle something to brace against as she moved to straddle him.  His eyes rolled back in his head when she wrapped her hand around him to line them up, and for an embarrassing moment, he feared he’d go off in her hand.  Not since he was a boy had he been so precipitous.

“Condom?” he asked in an effort to distract himself.  They’d agreed that Belle would be in charge of birth control, but he had no idea where she was in that process.

“We’re good,” she assured him, before hesitating.  “Unless you _want_ to wear one?”

At this moment, Gold wanted nothing more than to be buried inside of his wife, nothing between them.  “Hardly.”

It took her a moment to get the angle right, then she was sinking down onto him, her body so tight around his that it made his toes curl.  Gold let out a harsh grunt, his hands going to her hips to support her, dimly aware that above him, Belle was breathing hard.  “Belle?”

“Give me a minute,” she begged, and he could feel her inner muscles fluttering around him.  “Been a while.”

The brief hiatus gave him a chance to collect himself as well so that by the time Belle started to rock, he felt less like he was about to lose his mind.  Instead, with his equilibrium restored he was able to enjoy the experience instead of just clinging to his control with his fingernails in a desperate attempt not to disappoint his wife.

She fit him perfectly, their bodies slotting together as though they’d been made to do exactly this.  Every roll of his hips, she met with a movement of her own, the pair of them working in tandem like they’d done this a thousand times before.  

Belle moaned when he reached to cup her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs.  Arching her back, she pressed herself more firmly into his hands as she picked up her pace.  “Oh, that’s good.”

He wasn’t sure if she rode him for minutes or hours.  Time seemed to lose all meaning in this wonderful place where only the two of them existed.  While they might not understand each other’s minds yet, their bodies were already communicating perfectly.

Much as he would have liked to do nothing but this for hours, he was only a man, and she was perfection.  Already, he could feel the flames in his gut that warned his climax wouldn’t be denied for much longer.  

When he moved his thumb to the place where their bodies joined, Belle gasped and fell forward, sprawling across his chest as she moved her hips more urgently, breathless little grunts escaping her.  Doubling his efforts, Gold thrust up harder, his body straining towards its climax.

Somehow they crested the wave together, Belle having the presence of mind to bring her mouth crashing down against his to muffle their cries as he sweated and bucked, the orgasm tearing through his body with the force of a hurricane.

When the storm passed, he felt drained and light-headed, barely able to keep up his end of the kiss. Belle slumped against him, and he could feel her shaking.  “That was _incredible_.”

Her praise sent another jolt through him.  “Enjoying your honeymoon?”

“God, yes.”  She reached down to pull the covers back over them, showing no inclination to move.  With the last of his strength, Gold wrapped his arms around her and settled her more comfortably.  

“Happy wedding night, Mrs. Gold.”

Warm lips caressed his throat.  “Happy wedding night, husband.”

If Belle planned to wake him like this every night, Gold thought he might grow rather fond of four in the morning.


	18. Chapter 18

“This one,” Belle said, but even though she claimed to have made her decision, she didn’t put down either tie, continuing to hold first one, then the other up against his blue shirt.

Hiding a smile, Gold stood patiently, angling his chin so he could watch his wife dither over her choice of his apparel.  He vaguely remembered mentioning that one of the things he wanted from their marriage was someone to help him pick out his ties in the morning, and in the ten days since they’d said their vows on the beach, Belle had thrown herself into the task.  

At the moment, she was vacillating between a purple paisley pattern and a tie comprised of swirls of green and silver.  Gold generally wore a burgundy tie with this particular shirt, but he was learning that his wife had more adventurous taste.  

“This one,” she repeated, lowering the hand that was holding the purple paisley to indicate that the green and silver swirl was today’s victor.

“Are you certain?  There’s no need to rush into a decision,” he teased.  

Belle’s face fell.  “I’m sorry, Diarmid.  I don’t mean to waste your time.”

She’d taken his words exactly the wrong way, and Gold swallowed a sigh as he wrapped his arms around her waist, embracing her, ties and all.  “I’m teasing you.  I quite like being fussed over.”

Not entirely convinced, Belle nibbled on her bottom lip.  “If you tell me the night before which shirt you want to wear, I could pick it out in advance.”

If she did that, he wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching her comb through his vast collection of ties and seeing the way her eyes lit up when she found something she liked.  He wouldn’t be able to enjoy the warmth of her standing in front of him, her full attention centered on him as she whittled down her options until she found the perfect match, her focused blue eyes betraying how seriously she took her task.  For the minutes that it took her to choose his tie, Gold was the center of Belle’s world, and he liked it that way.

“What would be the fun in that?” he asked lightly, letting his fingers wander so that he could tickle her side until she smiled.  “I only wear ties for the pleasure of watching you pick them out.”

The blatant lie made her laugh as he’d hoped.  “Why _do_ you wear a suit every day?” she asked, tilting her head with curiosity.  “If I worked from home, I’d never get out of my pajamas.”

“It reminds me who I’m not anymore.”  Once, he’d been nothing more than a scrawny, dirt-poor boy with an incomprehensible Glaswegian accent.  Gold had spent decades shaping himself into the man he wanted to be— educated, cultured, urbane.  The suits were part and parcel of that.  His clothing was a constant reminder that he’d reached his goal.

Belle was certain to understand.  The majority of the wardrobe she’d brought with her to Maine had been consigned to the trash to be replaced with designer pieces.  Even her collection of underthings and nightwear had undergone a transformation, although she’d decided to keep her dinosaur pajamas.  Gold was quietly pleased about that.  He had very fond memories of that particular ensemble.

“I guess that makes sense.  One of these days, I’d like to see you in a pair of jeans though.”  Her eyes sparkled at him.

“We’ll see.”

Content to let the matter drop. Gold followed his wife downstairs to the kitchen, finding Dove and Moe already there.  That was another change.  Dove had taken advantage of the fallout from Moe’s breakdown on their wedding day to institute a new schedule, one that got the older man out of his room on a regular basis.  

“Good morning, Moe.  Dove.”  Gold nodded to each of them as he took his seat.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold.”

Moe mumbled a greeting, leaving Gold to wonder if the reason Belle’s father never said his name was because he couldn’t remember what it was.  As in-laws went, he supposed things could be dramatically worse.

The older man lit up when Belle leaned down to kiss his cheek before going to pop a slice of bread into the toaster.  Although Gold had informed her that he was more than capable of fixing his own breakfast, his wife seemed to take pleasure in doing it for him.  “Can I interest you in strawberry preserves this morning?  Maybe apple butter?”

“Marmalade,” he retorted, taking her teasing in stride.  Belle loved to twit at him over his austere breakfast of choice, and it would take all of the fun out of it if he ever agreed to one of her suggestions for livening up the meal.

Once she’d slathered his toast with marmalade and poured his coffee, Belle helped herself to a portion of the baked oatmeal the housekeeper had prepared for the rest of them and took her own seat.  “How’s the workshop coming along?”

When he suggested turning the basement into a workshop for Moe, he’d envisioned hiring workmen who could complete the project in a matter of days.  Instead, Dove had suggested that he and Moe do the work themselves, suggesting that it would do the older man good to take on such a task.  A week into the renovation, Gold had taken a peek at their progress and mentally resigned himself to the fact that the basement would be a construction zone at least until the end of the year.  

Dove, on the other hand, seemed perfectly satisfied.  “Things are going very well.”

“We found a record player,” Moe contributed.

“Feel free to toss that out.  It’s broken.”  Gold vaguely recalled storing the stereo away with the intention of fixing it one day, but technology had advanced before that day ever came.  Until Moe brought it up, he’d forgotten it was still down there.

Dove and Moe exchanged a knowing look.  “I think we can remedy that.”

Beneath the table, Belle took his hand and squeezed, her eyes shining.  “I bet you can.  Dad was always good at fixing things.”

Moe ducked his head at her praise, unable to hide his pleased expression, and Gold had to smile.  Moe was proving to be more difficult to manage than he’d imagined possible, but his small successes made Belle so happy that he couldn’t begrudge the time and effort.  Next week was his appointment with Dr. Kurz, and Gold could only hope that with the doctor’s guidance, his condition would continue to improve.

“What are your plans for today, Mrs. Gold?”  Dove’s question tipped Gold off to the fact that Belle wouldn’t be participating in the workshop project today.  Now that father and daughter spent an hour in the afternoon playing board games together, Belle had been more willing to step back and let Dove handle Moe while she pursued her own interests.

“Let me guess— tea and a book in the back garden.”  Whenever Belle wasn’t with him or Moe, she could generally be found reading in the sun, and her pale skin was starting to gain some color.  Now that she was eating actual food on a regular basis, her face was losing its pinched look, and Gold heartily approved of the changes.  From the first moment he saw her, he’d thought Belle beautiful, but now she looked healthy and vibrant as the weight of years of worry dropped away.

“Nope.”  Belle pressed her lips together in a secretive smile.  “It’s a surprise.”

Gold raised his eyebrows with interest, but she ignored his silent request for more information.  “I’ll be home in time for lunch,” she promised.  

Nothing in her body language indicated a need for suspicion, so Gold opted to be pleasantly mystified as he retreated to his office to begin the day’s work.  George King was hosting a dinner party at the end of the week, so he needed to make sure he was up to date on his associates’ activities before he met with them face to face.

Dinner party—Gold snorted at the term.  Nothing about these meetings was ever a party, but it would be too wordy to call them what they were: a chance for a circle of ambitious people with few scruples to get together and attempt to sniff out each other’s weaknesses on a regular basis.

This time he had a secret weapon, if it was appropriate to refer to his wife in such a way.  Gold had indicated that he’d be bringing a plus one to Friday’s dinner, but no one who knew him would be expecting his plus one to be a wife, much less a wife like Belle.

He was deeply looking forward to seeing the look on Cora’s face.

Belle had seemed nervous when he told her about their plans for Friday evening, but he had faith that she’d rise to the occasion.  Even more than Cora’s reaction to Belle, he was anticipating hearing Belle’s evaluation of Cora and all the rest of them.  He wouldn’t muddy the waters by sharing his own opinions about them in advance, but he should probably warn her that none of the people she would be meeting had any idea that she existed.

Part of him very much wanted to keep it that way.  He could attend Friday’s gathering alone and not breathe a word of Belle’s existence.  She could remain tucked away here in the house with her books and her father and her tea, safe from prying eyes and catty remarks.  He didn’t need to drag her into the vipers’ nest with him.

To shield her from that part of his life would be doing her a disservice.  Belle only looked fragile and delicate.  In truth, she had a core of iron, and after years of wrangling Moe, she would hardly be intimidated by George King and his ilk.  She was his wife— his partner— not his ward.  Belle had a keen sense of observation and a quick mind.  Having her at his side would be an advantage in more ways than one.

Satisfied with his decision, Gold turned his attention to his work, identifying a few interesting entries buried in one of James King’s quarterly reports.  It could be nothing, but years of experience had taught Gold that it was well-worth investigating oddities and discrepancies, insignificant as they appeared to be.  Cora’s daughter, Regina, had never quite forgiven him for catching her attempt at embezzlement.  If nothing else, he’d taught her to cover her tracks better.

It wasn’t until the door to his office opened hours later that he realized how lost he’d been in the sea of numbers and minor details that comprised his working life.  He leaned back in his desk chair, wincing as his neck protested.

“I’m home,” Belle announced as she stepped into the room, a tray of soup and sandwiches in her hands and a garment bag draped over her right arm.

“I noticed,” he said with some asperity.  It was a poor greeting, but his eyes burned and his head was starting to pound in delayed reaction to squinting at his computer monitor.  The thought that he might need glasses occurred to him, and Gold scowled at the idea.

Belle froze.  “Am I interrupting?  Should I go?”

Had she not interrupted when she did, he would have worked himself into a migraine, and for that alone he should be gracious.  “No, don’t go.  I apologize.”  Gold gestured vaguely at himself.  “Headache.”

Instantly, Belle’s expression smoothed itself into one of sympathy.  “Want me to rub your shoulders?”

That was another little habit that Gold enjoyed about married life.  His wife was astonishingly good at giving neck rubs and seemed happy to demonstrate her skills at the slightest hint that he would enjoy her services.

“Put the tray down first,” he advised when she moved to come around his desk, and the surprised look she gave the tray, as though she’d forgotten she was holding it, made him chuckle.  He felt better already.

Belle placed the tray on his desk and draped the garment bag over the arm of the sofa before moving behind him.  Without him saying a word, her fingers found the spots that ached and pressed in hard enough to make his eyes water before beginning their massage, easing his tension away.  Gold groaned, leaning back harder into her ministrations.  

“That’s it…” Belle crooned.  “Just relax.”

At her magical touch, it was impossible to do anything else.  Already his head was clearing as the pressure behind his eyes started to fade.  She moved from knot to knot as though laser guided, kneading each into submission as she worked her way down from his neck to his shoulders, leaving him feeling loose and relaxed.

Gold sighed in blissful relief.  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Belle gave his upper arms an affectionate squeeze, then wrapped her arms around him from behind in a loose embrace as she kissed the top of his head.  “You’re welcome.  Feeling better?”

“Like a new man.”  

“Good.”  She smiled at him as she moved around his desk, and Gold frowned, noticing something that he hadn’t before.  

“What?”  Belle paused in dragging a chair closer to his desk so they could eat together.  

She looked different.  It was the same outfit she’d been wearing this morning, the same smile she always gave him, but there was something different about Belle.  It took him a moment to put his finger on it.  

“You cut your hair.”

Belle lifted a self-conscious hand to her hair and flashed him a quick smile.  “Surprise!” she chirped, not sounding entirely convinced as she held her hands out to him.  “I had my nails done.  And my eyebrows.  I got a massage and a facial too.”

Her hair was a good four inches shorter than it had been this morning, the reduced length giving new life to her bouncing curls.  “You look lovely.”

Belle sagged in relief.  “I was afraid you’d be angry.  I didn’t mean to get so much cut off, but I haven’t had a trim in years, and my ends were all split to hell.”

Gold was baffled.  “Why on earth would I be angry?”

Curling up in her seat, she reached for her soup.  “I thought you might want me to keep it long.  I mean, I know it’s not _short_ , but it’s shorter.”

The thought that he might want to control her appearance didn’t sit right with Gold.  “It’s your hair, sweetheart.  If you like it, that’s all that matters.”

For some reason, his words made her frown.  “You don’t care how I look?”

There seemed to be no right answer to that question.  “I suppose I’d rather you not have shorter hair than I do, but other than that, if you want to experiment, feel free.  If a look doesn’t please you, it will always grow back.”

That seemed to mollify her.  “I’m trying to get ready for Friday.  I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

“My business associates,” he corrected her.  “I would be hard-pressed to call any of them my friends.”

Belle shook her head indulgently.  “I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your _business associates._ ”

She was more nervous about the upcoming dinner than he’d realized, and Gold reached out to pat her hand.  “You won’t.  They’ll be too busy dying of shock that you exist.”

Belle’s eyebrows shot up.  “You didn’t tell them you got married?”

“It’s a surprise.”  

“Okay…”  Belle gazed unseeingly down at her spoon for long moments before visibly shaking off whatever she’d been thinking.  She nodded at the garment bag.  “I bought a dress.  Will you tell me if it’s appropriate for the dinner party?”

“Of course.”  

At first glance, the gray dress with its gently scooped neckline and flared skirt looked almost like a schoolgirl’s uniform, but when Belle turned it around to reveal that the back was almost entirely cut away, covered only by sheer black lace, it no longer looked so innocent.  “It’s perfect.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Belle zipped the dress back into its bag and returned to their shared lunch.  “Is there anything I should know or anything that you want me to do?  You said you wanted me to pay attention to things you might miss, but how will I know what that is?”

Gold blinked in surprise when Belle parroted his own words from weeks ago back to him,  Apparently his wife never forgot anything he said, and he wasn’t sure if that would make married life easier or harder.  “Just be yourself.  For now, all you’re doing is getting the lay of the land.”

Belle giggled.  “I feel like a spy.  Come to think of it, I’m not even sure I know what it is you _do_.”

“I own a variety of business interests.  Mostly I move things around— assets, money, things of that ilk.”

Shrewd blue eyes narrowed at him.  “You mean like money laundering?”

He chuckled.  “Nothing so exciting.  Everything that I do is strictly legal.”  That wasn’t to say that he didn’t exploit every legal loophole to its fullest advantage, but Gold prided himself on having made a fortune without ever having so much as bent the law.  He even paid his taxes on time.

“So, I don’t have to worry about the FBI showing up at our door some day?”

“I’m afraid not.  You’re married to a very boring businessman who spends his days straining his eyes nitpicking at numbers.  Every so often, I go meet with other very boring businesspeople who have other specialties.  Hence, Friday’s dinner party.”

“And your trips to Boston.”

“Exactly.  Although those were never boring.”

When Belle looked to him for an explanation, Gold caught her hand.  “I was quite fond of Boston’s nightlife.”

Her cheeks colored when she caught his meaning.  “You’re flirting with me.”

“If I can’t flirt with my wife, who can I flirt with?”  He’d successfully distracted her from her worry about Friday, but a feeling of unease still lingered in his own mind.  Should he tell her about Cora?  It wasn’t information he relished the idea of disclosing, but it wouldn’t be fair to Belle not to at least warn her.  He assumed that Cora would have the sense to keep her mouth shut, but she didn’t always do the sensible thing.

Belle was just leaning in for a kiss when the grandfather clock in the hallway struck two.  “Dad!”

“What?”  A heartbeat later, he realized what she was talking about.  Two o’clock was her standing date with her father for board games, and Moe didn’t do well when he was off his schedule.  Gold had learned that the hard way.

“Take your sandwich,” he advised, tugging her down for a quick kiss.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Belle promised before dashing out of the room, sandwich in hand.

Gold shivered at the thought.  Since their wedding night, Belle had proven to be a passionate and enthusiastic bed partner, and he looked forward to seeing what form her “making it up to him” would take.  

With thoughts of the night to come flooding his mind, it was easy to dismiss thoughts of Cora.  He’d tell her later, Gold promised himself.  It was only fair.  Hopefully, she wouldn’t judge him too harshly.

But not tonight.  Friday was still days away.  He had plenty of time.

He’d tell her later.


	19. Chapter 19

“You never fail to astonish me, Gold.”  George King sounded almost admiring.  “How on earth did you persuade that sweet young thing to shackle herself to you?”

Gold smirked as he gazed across the dining room to where Belle was currently chatting with the ladies, careful not to allow his real feelings to show.  His wife’s introduction to his business associates had been a complete triumph, and it wouldn’t do for King to realize the depth of either his pride in her or just how relieved he was that things had gone well.

Dining with his associates was not unlike skinny-dipping with piranhas, but Belle had acquitted herself beautifully.  Although she’d done more listening than speaking during dinner, she’d proven to be eloquent and witty when the flow of conversation encompassed her.  Even more significantly, she’d risen above every barbed remark from Cora and Regina with dignity, proving that he’d been right not to tell her about their shared history.  Learning that she was sharing a table with her husband’s former lover would have only made her feel awkward.  It was better for her to meet Cora without that baggage.  

Realizing that King’s question wasn’t merely rhetorical, Gold affected a sentimental expression.  “Who can say how the heart chooses its desire?”

On the other side of his father, James King laughed crudely at his answer.  “You seriously think this is a love match?  Give me ten minutes alone with that hot little wife of yours and she won’t even remember your name.”

Gold ground his teeth, swallowing a flare of rage at the thought of James King daring to lay a single grubby finger on Belle, and said mildly, “That’s poor incentive for me to leave the pair of you alone.”

“I think she’s lovely,” Henry Mills announced with complete sincerity, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation.  That was par for the course with Mills, who generally seemed oblivious to anything unpleasant.  Perhaps that explained how such a good-natured man had endured being married to a harpy like Cora for three decades.  

“Thank you, Henry.”  Gold smiled benevolently.  “I’m inclined to agree with you.”

For a moment, Mills looked blank, then he chuckled like he’d just caught the joke.  “Well of course you are!  She’s _your_ wife.”

“Indeed she is,” Gold murmured, looking more closely at Belle.  She seemed to have reached an understanding with Cora.  On the other side of the room, the two women were chatting away like old friends, joined by Regina, while Jackie, the younger King’s current fling, sulked at being left out.

“I hate to leave such an enjoyable gathering,” Gold lied smoothly, raising his voice so that Belle would hear him.  “But my wife and I have a long drive ahead of us.”

Cora lifted her glass in an ironic salute.  “Far be it from us to keep the newlyweds out after their bedtime.”

When she stepped into his arms, Gold turned his head to catch her kiss on the cheek instead of the lips.  “Don’t be a stranger, darling,” she purred.  “I await your call.”

“I’ll count the minutes until I see you again,” he assured her, his flat tone making it clear that he would forget her existence the moment he stepped out of the house.

Beside him, Belle accepted farewell embraces from Mills and James, the latter lingering far too long for Gold’s taste.  Jackie, apparently, felt the same way.  “Nighty night, Belle.  See you next time, assuming you two last that long.”

“I suppose time will tell,” Belle replied calmly as she landed an air kiss a good six inches away from Jackie’s cheek.

“Take good care of Diarmid for me,” Cora instructed sweetly.  “Don’t wear him out _too_ much.”

Regina smirked.  “Now, Mother, be reasonable.  She has to earn her keep.”

On second thought, perhaps she hadn’t made friends.  

If they knew they were getting under his skin, it would only encourage further cruelty, so Gold didn’t rise to the bait, pleased when Belle betrayed no reaction beyond a flush of color rising on her cheeks that could have been anger or embarrassment.  

Mills beamed at her, radiating honest good cheer.  “Good night, my dear.  I look forward to seeing you again next time.”

Belle smiled back, her eyes warm.  “Good night, Henry.  And George, thank you for a _fascinating_ evening.”

Gold didn’t draw a full breath until they were safely ensconced in the Cadillac and on the road.  The more miles he could put between them and his associates, the happier he would be.  Next to him in the passenger seat, Belle was sitting ramrod straight, staring out through the windshield like her life depended on the view.

“I hope the evening wasn’t too dreadful.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head for just a moment to give him a look of disbelief before going back to staring straight ahead once again.  “I hope I performed up to your expectations.”

“You were magnificent,” he assured her, realizing a moment too late just how cold her tone was.

It was a ninety minute drive back to Storybrooke from Manchester, New Hampshire, and as far as he could tell, Belle planned to spend all of them in silence.  When Gold imagined having her at his side for events like this, he’d pictured the pair of them trading laughs at his associates’ expense and mocking the pretentious company they’d left behind.  Instead, the atmosphere in the car was oppressive, making him feel that even turning on the car’s radio would be an imposition.

He was deaf to anything save for the sound of her breathing, deep and slow through her nose before emerging from her mouth in a long, controlled hiss.  If it was possible to hear rage, he was hearing it now, but Gold wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done.  He’d warned her that his associates weren’t a pleasant group of people.

“Belle…”  He wasn’t sure how to continue that sentence, but his wife came to his rescue.

“How _could_ you?” she demanded, rounding on him with flashing eyes.

For the life of him, Gold wasn’t sure what she was accusing him of, but Belle didn’t give him a chance to ask.  “You made me so many promises.  Did you mean _any_ of them?  I’ve been _killing_ myself trying to be the perfect wife!  I’ve done _everything_ you wanted me to do!  I pick out your ties and rub your shoulders and make your breakfast and shave my legs every day and make sure I always look pretty for you, and _this_ is what I get in return?”

Bile rose in Gold’s throat when he realized what she was saying.  All of the little domestic rituals he so cherished weren’t really a sign that he and Belle were developing a strong bond.  She wasn’t doing those things because she wanted to.  All she was doing was fulfilling her end of their deal.  “I’m sorry you find it so challenging to be my wife.”

He was willing to swear he heard her teeth grinding.  “Don’t you _dare_ try to turn this around on me.  All I’ve done is try to make you happy, and you flaunt your mistress in my face!  You didn’t even warn me!  You just let me walk in there and get blindsided by her and your daughter!  I’ve never been so humiliated.”

“ _What_?”  Reflexively, Gold slammed his foot down on the brake hard enough to send both of them jolting forward until their seat belts did their job.  

Belle folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.  “Oh, was that supposed to be a secret?” she asked in a mocking tone.  “I guess you should have made sure your _mistress_ knew that.”

“Belle…”  Something had gone horribly wrong tonight, and Gold didn’t have the slightest idea how he was going to sort this out.  Behind them, a car sounded its horn, reminding him that he was currently driving approximately twenty miles slower than the speed limit.  Cursing, Gold pulled off the road into the first available parking lot, which happened to belong to a fast food restaurant.  He chose the most distant parking space possible, but the garish lights from the sign still filled the interior of the Cadillac, bringing a sense of surrealism to the moment.

Next to him, Belle’s face was set in stone, her eyes glittering with rage, and considering what Cora had apparently told her, Gold wasn’t sure that he blamed her.  “Cora is not my mistress.”

A hard shake of her head told him that Belle was in no mood to listen.  “Don’t lie to me.”

“Cora _was_ my mistress twenty-five years ago.  It lasted slightly less than a year, and I have not laid a hand on her since.”  Gold wanted to defend his actions, but he had a feeling that Belle was in no mood to grant him absolution.

“I don’t believe you.”

It was his own fault.  If he’d warned her about Cora, Belle would have been prepared to dismiss her lies.  Instead, the other woman had gotten inside her head, and he’d given Cora carte blanche to do her worst by keeping their past a secret.  

“Belle, _think_ ,” he pleaded.  “What would I have to gain by lying to you?”

“How should I know?  Nothing you do makes any sense to me.”  Belle turned to stare out the window like she was trying to memorize the restaurant’s special deal on chicken nuggets.  “You never tell me anything.  No wonder you didn’t want to tell me about your child.  At least you don’t expect me to be _her_ stepmother.  My god, I can’t even imagine that.”

Gold winced.  He’d been half-hoping that he’d simply heard her wrong when she accused him of fathering Regina.  Apparently not.

“My child is a son, not a daughter.  Henry Mills is Regina’s father.  She existed years before I went to bed with Cora for the first time.”  Considering that Regina had tried to seduce him into staying silent about her attempt at embezzlement, he cringed at the thought of it being otherwise.  The thought of sleeping with both mother and daughter was grotesque enough on its own without adding incest to the mix.

While manipulation was Cora’s specialty, she normally steered away from blatant lies.  “Did she tell you that I was Regina’s father?”

“Not in so many words.”  Belle’s posture uncurled a little as she shifted from staring out her window.  She still wasn’t looking at him, but it was an improvement.  “She kept talking about how proud she was of Regina and how much she took after her father… that she had his eyes.  And she kept looking at you.”

So, she hadn’t actually lied, just led Belle by the hand until his wife jumped to the conclusion Cora wanted her to draw.  “Henry Mills has brown eyes.  Quite a few men do.”

Belle leaned her head back against the headrest and let out a slow breath.  “Maybe I misunderstood.”

“I think you understood _exactly_ what Cora meant you to understand,” he said bitterly.  “She’s never forgiven me for ending our relationship.  I should have known that she’d jump at the chance to cause trouble.”

It was the height of stupidity for Cora to advertise their past relationship to an unknown party.  For all she knew, Belle was the type of person who’d take that kind of volatile information directly to Henry in revenge.  Yet given Cora’s penchant for acting first and thinking second, he really shouldn’t be surprised.  

“Cora is not my mistress, and Regina is not my daughter,” he said firmly, determined to take advantage of Belle’s apparent softening to convince her.  “I have never lied to you, Belle.”

“No, I guess you haven’t,” she murmured, not sounding entirely happy about it.

He had no reason to lie.  He could be sleeping with everyone at that dinner party with no intention of stopping, and Belle would have no recourse.  The prenup had made certain of that.  She couldn’t divorce him without losing everything, and that meant she was powerless.  For the first time, the thought made him uncomfortable.  He hadn’t meant to _trap_ her, just ensure that she couldn’t abandon him on a whim.

“I’m trying to be a good husband,” he said stiffly.  Until tonight, he’d thought he was succeeding.  “If you’re unhappy…”

Belle sighed.  “I’m not.  Not really.”

When he put a tentative hand on her knee, Belle didn’t shrug him off, but she didn’t exactly respond to his touch either.  “What would make this better?”

“I don’t know.”  He could barely hear her.

“Belle, I swear to you that I’m telling the truth.”  He could repeat those words a hundred times, but they were just words.  It was up to Belle to choose to believe him, and he had no idea how to convince her to do that.

Frustration made him grind his teeth, the emotion directed as much at himself as it was at her.  Had he told her about Cora from the beginning, this wouldn’t be happening.  “I should have told you about my past with Cora.  I apologize for not doing so.”

Belle’s posture relaxed a little as she half-turned to face him.  “Maybe I’m not being fair.  It’s not like I expect you to disclose your entire sexual history.  If you _really_ haven’t been with her in twenty-five years…”

“I could have warned you that she’s a viper who isn’t to be trusted.”  Even if he didn’t want to open himself up to her censure by revealing he’d had an affair with a married woman, he could have at least said that much.  There was no reason not to, except…

Except he’d wanted to see how she would react.  The realization shamed him.  “I’m sorry, Belle.”

“You warned me that they weren’t nice people.  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to believe the worst of you.”  The feel of Belle’s hand coming to rest on top of his made Gold’s throat tighten.  She’d forgiven him.

When he turned his hand over to wrap his fingers around hers, Belle allowed the touch, her lips quirking in a small smile.  “I guess we both kind of broke our promises.  You promised to be honest with me, and I promised to always give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Given that spin on the situation, it didn’t seem quite so dire.  If they’d both made mistakes, this misunderstanding was really neither of their faults.  Mentally Gold placed the blame firmly on Cora’s shoulders.  “We’ll do better next time.”

“I don’t like your friends.”  Belle said the words with so much force that he nearly laughed.

“They’re not my friends, and I don’t like them either.  I’m impressed by how well you handled yourself tonight.  It couldn’t have been easy.”  

Belle let out a noisy sigh and sagged back in her seat, her fingers tightening around his.  “Thank you.  Yeah, tonight pretty much sucked.”

While he wouldn’t have used that particular phrasing, Gold couldn’t disagree with her.  “Aye.  That it did.  At least now you know what to expect.”

Belle groaned as he restarted the car.  “I’ll study up on passive aggressive communication strategies.  And next time I’ll eat first.  I’m still starving.”

At the King house, the food tended to be more stylish than palatable.  After the night she’d had, the least he could do was feed her properly.  “We’ll stop somewhere and get you something.  What would you like?”

“Chicken nuggets.”  Belle gave him an embarrassed smile.  “The sign made me hungry for them.”

Gold looked at the fast food restaurant in dismay.  “You can’t be serious.”

“I _like_ chicken nuggets.”

If his wife wanted chicken nuggets, chicken nuggets she would have.  Shaking his head, Gold pulled the Cadillac into the drive-through.  “Anything else?”

“French fries.  Oh, and can I get a milkshake?”  She sounded so much like a child begging for a treat that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry.

“I’ll buy you the whole menu if you want it.  Should I get you one of those meals with the toy as well?”  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten at a restaurant with less than four stars, and now he was patronizing a fast food drive-through.  

The food wasn’t actually bad, he admitted to himself.  He’d ordered only an iced tea for his own consumption, but Belle had taken it into her head to share her meal with him, feeding him french fries and chicken nuggets as he drove.  With his wife feeding him by hand, Gold supposed anything would taste good.

She seemed to have recovered from the dinner party, relaxing enough to make a few witty remarks about the company they’d been keeping, but Gold didn’t enjoy the banter as much as he’d anticipated.  He was still stuck on something she’d said earlier— _I’ve been killing myself trying to be the perfect wife!_  The thought that their domestic bliss was nothing more than a duty to her rankled.

“Belle…”  He paused, searching for the right way to ask.  “Is it really that difficult?  Being married to me?”

Belle sighed when she realized what he was referring to.  “No.  I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?”  

“Look, I _like_ being married to you.  You’re kind.  You’re patient with Dad.  You treat me well.  You’re thoughtful and generous.”  Belle ticked off his positive qualities on her fingers.  “You’re a _good_ husband, at least most of the time.  I want to be a good wife.  I want you to be satisfied with me.”

For a moment, it looked as though she wanted to say more, so Gold held his tongue, biting back the instinctive urge to tell her that he was perfectly satisfied with her.  In the resulting silence, Belle ate a meditative french fry, then spoke again.  “I don’t know why you married me, so I don’t know what you want from me.  Every time I think I have it figured out, I find out I’m wrong.  So, I’m just trying really hard to do everything right so you’ll be happy with me.”

“I _am_ happy with you, sweetheart,” he assured her.  It hurt to think that she was insecure enough to believe otherwise.

“I guess I just can’t figure out why you wanted me.  I’m not sophisticated like you.  I don’t have any business experience, so I don’t know how much help I’ll be at these dinners.”  She waved her hand vaguely.  “Plus there’s Dad.  It would have made more sense for you to marry _anyone_ but me.  Why _me_?”

“Because I _like_ you.  You’ve seen my social circle.  These are the kind of people that I know.  Why _wouldn’t_ I want you?  Someone I can trust.  Someone I enjoy talking to.  Someone I can relax with.  Someone who’ll be on my side.”  Belle was the perfect wife.  He didn’t understand why she couldn’t see it.  

“The list of people I actually like is extremely short, and your name is at the top of it.”  He couldn’t give her love, but at least he could give her that.  How many people could say that they honestly _liked_ their spouses?  In Gold’s world, not many could make that claim.

Belle smiled shyly.  “That makes me feel better.”

“Then stop trying to be perfect.  I don’t expect that.  Just be you.  That will satisfy me.”  Gold had to force the next words out.  “If you don’t enjoy the neck rubs or helping me pick out my ties, you don’t have to do that any more.”

“Diarmid, no…”  Belle’s hand came to rest on his thigh.  “I like doing those things.  Really I do.  I just… I think maybe I was worrying too much.  You’re not the kind of man who’ll get upset with me if I get a haircut you don’t like.”

“Of course not.”

“I just need to get to know you better.  Will you let me do that?”  Belle’s eyes pleaded with him.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”  It was the least he could do after he’d gotten them into this mess by not telling her anything at all.

He probably should have seen her next words coming.

“I want you to tell me about your son.”


	20. Chapter 20

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in response to the strangled noise he made.  “I know you don’t want to talk about it.  But… I’m your wife.  I’m supposed to know you better than anyone, and I don’t know _anything_ about you.”

Her accusation stung.  “That’s not true.”

“It is though,” Belle contradicted gently.  “I know your favorite color and what you like to eat and the chess strategies you favor, but those are just details.  I want to _know_ you, Diarmid.  I want you to tell me about your hopes and dreams, so I can help make them come true.  I want to hear about all the things that hurt, so I can comfort you or at least not make things worse.”

Gold swallowed hard, his eyes burning.  What Belle was offering him was something he’d never dreamed possible.  She wasn’t just willing to share his home because he paid for her father’s care.  Belle was willing to share his _life_ — be his wife in every sense of the word, his better half.  That wasn’t something she could do if he kept stonewalling her every time she reached out.

Belle looked down at her hands.  “I behaved badly tonight.  I knew that your child was a painful topic, but when I thought Regina was your daughter, I attacked you.”

“You had good cause.”  Nothing about this evening was her fault.  Considering what Cora had led her to believe, she had every reason to be furious with him.  It was just a miracle that Belle was willing to hear him out instead of letting that harpy come between them.

“All the pieces seemed to fit.  You told me that the story didn’t reflect well on anyone, and fathering a child with a married woman seemed like as good of an explanation as any.”  Belle sighed.  “I didn’t stop to think that if you were her father, it had to be difficult for you to see your daughter raised by another man.”

Gold clenched his teeth around the jolt of pain her words caused.  “Belle, stop.  It was just a misunderstanding.”

“But I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings,” she pleaded.  “Please let me in.  Maybe I can help.”

“There’s nothing to be done.”  That ship sailed decades ago.

“It used to drive me crazy when Dad got feisty,” she said, the sudden shift of topic making Gold blink.

“He can be difficult,” he allowed.  Their wedding day was proof of that.

“I used to curl up on the floor of the shower and just cry.  I felt like the whole world was crashing down around me.  Everything was just big and impossible and awful, and I was trapped.”  Belle’s voice shook as she recounted her past.

“Sweetheart…”  When Gold reached out to her, she caught his hand and squeezed.

“I haven’t had to do that in weeks.  I haven’t needed to.  When Dad gets worked up, you’re there.  I’m not alone any more.”  Belle smiled tremulously at him.  “It’s easier when you have a partner.  You’re my husband, Diarmid.  I’m on your side.  Let me help.”

Torn between pride that he could reassure Belle and dread at giving voice to his history, Gold said nothing at all, focusing all of his attention on simply keeping the car moving in a straight line.

The minutes ticked away in silence until Belle turned away to look out her own window.  “Okay,” she whispered.

She wouldn’t push him, he realized with relief.  Belle had accepted his decision to keep his past private.  They could go on as before.  Nothing needed to change.

Except he _wanted_ it to change.  Gold frowned thunderously at the oncoming headlights.  He wanted what Belle was offering him.  Right now she was his friend and his lover, but she could be so much more.  All he had to do was trust her enough to let her in.

“Not in the car,” he rasped.  He had no business driving while he relived his greatest mistake.  The last thing he needed to do was make this night even worse by wrapping the Cadillac around a tree in his distraction.”

“When we get home?” Belle suggested.

“When we get home,” he agreed.  Preferably once his hand was wrapped around a bottle of whiskey.

Perhaps sensing how much he was dreading the upcoming conversation, Belle did her best to keep up a steady flow of chatter as the miles passed them by.  She talked of nothing in particular, relating funny stories from her college days in alternating breaths with telling him about the dream she’d had where she was fighting giant ants with someone named Tim Gunn with whom she clearly expected him to be familiar.

He managed no more than monosyllabic replies, but Belle never faltered, letting him cling to her words so he didn’t have to contemplate what came next.  Even so, the closer they got to Storybrooke, the slower he found himself driving until they were crawling along the tree-lined streets of town.

Despite his best efforts, they eventually reached the house.  Once inside, Gold instinctively moved toward his office, the seat of his power.  There, in the place he felt most confident, perhaps the story wouldn’t seem so dreadful.

Belle caught his arm.  “Where are you going?”

“My office.”  With his heavy desk to protect him and easy access to the liquor cabinet, he just might make it through this.

“I don’t think this is really an office conversation, do you?”  Belle slid her hand down his arm to lace her fingers through his.  “Come on.  You’ll feel better once you’re in bed.”

As though watching from outside of his body, Gold saw himself follow docilely in Belle’s wake, changing into his pajamas when she instructed him to do so.  “There now, isn’t that better?” she asked as she drew the blankets over his lap and moved to sit beside him.  She’d chosen to wear her dinosaur pajamas for this, and to his addled mind, that choice seemed to mean something, although he had no idea what.

“I don’t want to do this.”  He’d meant to sound commanding.  He was the master of the house, and he was putting his foot down.  Instead, his voice was that of a frightened child.

“I know.”  Belle leaned her head against his shoulder.  “Have you ever told this story before?”

“No.”  The people who’d been around back then—Cora and George and Midas— already knew the basic outline of the tale.  Until now, no one else had ever needed to know.

Belle hummed like she’d been expecting his answer.  “I think you’ll feel better once you do.  It’s like draining a wound.  It hurts during, but it feels better afterward.”

He hadn’t seen his son in decades.  Gold couldn’t imagine how anything could make that feel better.  “I don’t know how to start.”  

“What’s his name?” she asked quietly.

“Baden.  Baden Michael Gold.”  To his surprise, it felt good to say it out loud.

“That’s a nice name.”

“I called him Bae.  He was my buddy.”  Gold could hear his voice becoming lighter and higher, the voice of the twenty-two year old who’d welcomed Bae into the world.

“Milah never wanted children.  Bae was a surprise, but she went through with it for me.  Because she loved me.”  He faltered on those words.   _Did_ she love him back then?  Had she _ever_ truly loved him?

“We made a deal.  She’d have the baby if I took care of him.”  Even while still married, he’d been a single parent, but he hadn’t begrudged a second of time he spent on Bae.  

“So, you stayed home while she went to work,” Belle prompted when he fell silent, lost in the memories.

“What?  No.”  Gold glanced down at her with a frown, uncertain how she’d drawn that conclusion.  “Milah never worked.”

“I don’t understand.  You said she wanted you to do the childcare.”  

“Aye.  I hired a minder for him during the day while I was at work and took care of him at night.”  At the time, he’d been frustrated by the lengthy workday that kept him away from Bae, and now Gold resented that lost time even more.  He’d had only a few short years with his son, and he’d spent too many hours at work.

Belle shook her head in confusion.  “Where was Milah?”

“Shopping.  At the bar.  Meeting… friends.  It was always her dream to live in New York, and she wasn’t going to miss out just because there was a baby at home.”  Even now, he couldn’t understand how she’d found it so easy to leave Bae behind.

“New York…?  Diarmid, I’m sorry, but I’m lost.  Can you go back just a little further?  I thought this was all happening in Glasgow.  How did you get to New York?  When did you and Milah get married?”  Belle twisted her hands in the covers in distress.

“We married at twenty.  Milah hated Scotland— _hated_ it.  She wanted to live in New York City, so we relocated a year later.”  While Glasgow held few good memories for him, Gold had adored his home country.  It was yet another thing he’d lost.

“Did you like the city?” Belle pressed.  “It doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”

“I hated it,” he admitted freely.  “But I was young and in love and that meant putting Milah’s happiness first.”

“So, you gave her New York and she gave you Bae.”  

“Exactly.”

“Is that what love means to you?  Doing things you don’t want to do to make the other person happy?”  Belle sounded baffled.

“Love means putting the other person first.  Making their happiness your first priority.”  The words tasted bitter on his tongue.  He’d done any number of stupid things to ensure Milah’s happiness, and it had gotten him nothing but heartbreak.

When Belle didn’t reply, Gold glanced down at her.  “Would you define it differently?”

“No…” she said slowly, sounding as though she wasn’t sure she meant it.  “I can’t argue with that, but… Okay.  You made Milah’s happiness your priority.  What did that look like?  You took care of Bae, so she didn’t have to.  What else?”

“Milah wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to be tied down.  In order to be happy, she needed her freedom.”  So many nights, she’d never come home at all, but he’d never complained.

Belle made a soft noise.  “Why do I feel like that’s a euphemism?”

“She wasn’t faithful, no.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged.  At the time, his wife’s preference for any man but him had hurt, but he’d long since become inured to it.  “It was a long time ago.”

“So, Milah was off doing her thing, and you were working and raising Bae,” Belle prompted, encouraging him to continue the story.

“It was a wonderful time.  Bae… he was my best friend.  Every time I looked at him, the whole world made sense.”  Stupidly, he’d thought himself a good father, and even knowing the truth couldn’t completely blacken those idyllic memories.  For eight short years, his life had been perfect because he had Bae.

“When did things change?”

Gold swallowed a mouthful of bile.  “When Bae was seven, Milah met someone.  She told me that she just needed to see what it was like to be with Killian and then she’d come home.  I let her go.  Because I _loved_ her.”  The word dripped with sarcasm.  By that point love had had nothing to do with it.  Any soft feelings he had for his wife had evaporated years before like the smokescreen they were.  Letting Milah get her way was simply a habit at that point.  It was easier to give in than to fight.

“She moved to California with her new boy toy.  Bae missed her even though she never had much to do with him.  I guess it’s human nature to crave a mother’s love.” He had no memories of his own mother, but that hadn’t stopped him from creating a vibrant fantasy life where she came back to take him away from his father.  

“While she was gone, I decided I’d had enough.  As soon as the school year ended, I was going to move out of the city into a nice little town somewhere where Bae would have room to run and play.  Milah could come with us or stay in New York or California or move to the damned moon.  Bae and I looked pictures of all sorts of houses, and he fell in love with this one.”  Gold smiled at the memory of Bae pounding his finger against the picture of the pink Victorian and insisting that his papa buy it right that very second, offering to contribute the contents of his own piggybank to the cause.

“It’s a beautiful house.  He has good taste,” Belle murmured.

“It used to be a bed and breakfast.  That’s why there are so many bathrooms,” he explained.  Fool that he was, he thought that feature would come in handy as Bae grew up and needed more privacy or wanted to have his friends over for sleepovers.  At least the idiosyncrasy was serving Moe and Dove well.

Belle, perhaps recognizing that he was stalling, remained quiet, giving him the space to compose his thoughts.  “Right as the school year ended, Milah called.  She wanted Bae to come to California and visit.  She promised to take him to Disneyland and the zoo and horseback riding on the beach and to see where all the movie stars lived… He was wild to go.”

Gold inhaled sharply.  “I let him.  Because I loved him and I wanted him to be happy.”  This time, his voice rang with raw honesty.  From the moment Bae was born, he’d wanted only for his son to be happy.  He hadn’t had the heart to deny his boy the trip he wanted so much.

“I was going to stay here and handle the renovations and moving and all those things, so when Bae came home, we’d be all settled.  I promised to call every week, and if he wanted to come home early, all he had to do was say the word.”  Putting his son on that plane had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.  If he’d known it was the last time he’d ever see his boy, he never would have had the strength.

“For the first few weeks, everything was fine.  Bae told me about all the fun he was having, and I told him about the house.  Then… things changed.”  Even now, he couldn’t explain how it had happened.  Everything had been fine until it wasn’t.

“Some weeks Milah couldn’t get him to come to the phone and when he would talk to me, it was different.  He’d beg to come home, then change his mind five minutes later and tell me he wanted to stay.  Whenever the house came up, he’d talk about it being _my_ house not _our_ house.  By August, he wouldn’t speak to me at all.”

He shook his head.  “Milah was surprisingly sympathetic.  According to her, he was very taken with Killian and when I called, it only upset him.  He wanted to stay in California with them and be a family.  I didn’t believe it until she put him on the phone and I heard it with my own ears.”  His son, the center of his universe, had chosen a life that didn’t include him.

“I just wanted him to be happy,” he whispered.  “I didn’t fight the divorce, didn’t fight for custody.  I signed away my rights when she told me Bae wanted Killian to adopt him.  He wouldn’t talk to me, so I sent him letters.  I don’t know if he ever read them.  I haven’t spoken to my son since he was eight years old.  He’s thirty-three now.”

It was only then that he realized he was holding Belle’s hand in a death grip.  When he tried to release her, she held on, stroking the back of his hand with her free one.  “What kind of man just lets his son go?  I should have fought harder for him.  I should have put my foot down with Milah and insisted she stay in New York.  I should have demanded custody.  Maybe then we could have fixed things.  Instead I was a coward, too afraid to look into his eyes and see that he loathed me.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Belle whispered, her voice choked and hoarse.  “You put their happiness before your own.  Because you loved them.”

“I loved them.  And it ruined everything.”  Never again would he make that mistake.  From the day he lost his son, Diarmid Gold had been certain of one thing— from now on, his own happiness came first.

“Come here,” Belle murmured.  With gentle hands she tugged him down until he was lying in her lap, his back to her.  Her fingers carded tenderly through his hair, massaging his scalp and the back of his neck.  “Oh, Diarmid, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah… me too.”

“Have you considered looking for him?  Hiring an investigator?”

Gold’s harsh chuckle hurt his throat.  “I’ve had the same phone number for twenty-five years.  I’ve never dared move because as long as I stay in his house Bae knows where I live.  If he wanted to be in contact with me, he could be.  I won’t force myself on him.”

Not for the first time, he wondered just what it was that he’d done so wrong in raising Bae that his boy would turn his back on him so completely.  If he’d been cruel, it would make sense, but he’d never raised a hand to his boy.  He’d barely even disciplined him.  He hadn’t _needed_ to.  Bae was an exemplary child.  If anything he’d praised him too much and spoiled him rotten to make up for the times when his work kept him from spending as much time with his boy as he wanted.

“What about social media?” Belle suggested.  “Facebook is a little more low-key than a phone call or showing up on your doorstep.  I know you don’t have an account, but he might.  We could use mine.”

Puzzled, Gold glanced back over his shoulder at her, and Belle inexplicably blushed.  “I looked you up a couple of months after you started coming to the bar.”

She’d probably wanted to verify that he was neither a stalker nor a serial killer.  It was a wise precaution.  “I’ve looked.  Baden Gold doesn’t exist.”

_That_ was what hurt most.  It was hard enough knowing that his son wanted nothing to do with him, but to not even know if he was alive or dead… Gold shuddered.

“Let it out,” Belle coaxed, moving one hand to stroke his back.  

He would have sworn that he had no more tears to shed on this matter, but it seemed there was no bottom to the well of his grief.  Burying his face against her legs, Gold let himself sob, the harsh, rusty sound filling the room.  

“That’s it… that’s it…I’ve got you…” Belle crooned, her own voice breaking like she was crying too.  She wrapped herself around him as best she could, pressing kiss after kiss to his hair.  

Eventually, he cried himself out, but Belle didn’t let him go.  Instead, she maneuvered both of them under the covers, keeping herself spooned up behind him.  “I wish there was something I could do,” she sighed as she rubbed his stomach in gentle circles.

Short of building a time machine to undo his mistakes, there was nothing to be done.  Whimsically, Gold wondered just how skilled of an inventor Moe French really was.  He pressed back into her embrace, the warmth of her soothing his frazzled nerves.  As of tonight, Belle knew the darkest parts of him and she was still here, comforting him.  It wasn’t enough to heal his broken places— nothing could ever do that— but with Belle’s arms around him, it made them hurt a little less.

“It did help.  Talking to you.”

Belle pressed a kiss to the spot under his ear.  “I’m glad.  Thank you for telling me about your son.  I’d like to hear more about him some day if you ever feel like sharing some of your memories.  He sounds like a wonderful boy.”

“He was perfect.”  Maybe it was as simple as that.  Bae had simply been too good for the likes of him.  Perhaps he should just consider himself fortunate he’d had his son for eight years.

If he and Belle ever had children, things would be different.  The prenup alone would make sure of that, but the more he got to know his wife, the more Gold was starting to realize that the document was unnecessary.  Belle wasn’t the sort of woman who would steal a child from its father.  Of course, it wasn’t really stealing if the child didn’t want to stay.

If he’d fought for custody, he only would have made Bae miserable, Gold reminded himself.  At least this way, his son had the mother and father he wanted, not one who’d used the law to trap him on the wrong side of the country from where he wanted to be.  He’d forsaken his own happiness to ensure his son’s.  Because he loved him.  And that love had nearly destroyed him.

It wasn’t a mistake he would make again.


	21. Chapter 21

To his own surprise, Gold woke easily the following morning, his mind rested and clear.

When he opened his eyes, he found Belle gazing at him from across the pillow, her wildly fluffed curls giving her the aspect of a half-blown dandelion.  When she noticed him looking, she smiled, her eyes soft and warm.  “Told you.  It’s a disaster when I don’t braid it.”

He chuckled, reaching a hand to touch an errant curl.  “You’re lovely.”  Her hair was a mess, true, but some part of him liked it.  With everyone else, Belle was careful to look her best.  With him, she could simply be herself.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

Taking a deep breath, Gold took a moment to consider her question.  Thoughts of Bae normally sent him into a tailspin of grief and pain, but today was different.  Instead of waking up feeling like death, as he normally did on mornings after he’d spent the previous night wallowing in thoughts of his son, he felt… okay.  The lack of a hangover probably helped.  

It still hurt— the loss of his son would always be a wound on his soul— but now that pain was blunted, an ache instead of a stab.  Telling Belle the story had drained the poison, and for the first time, Gold wondered if he might actually finally begin to heal after twenty-five years.  

“I’m glad I told you.”  Perhaps it wasn’t entirely fair to burden Belle with his pain, but he saw no new shadows in her eyes.  With her at his side to help carry the load, the terrible ache of loss was easier to bear.  

“I’m glad.”  The corners of her eyes crinkled with a tender smile, and Gold abruptly realized just how much light was filtering through the drapes.

“What time is it?”  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept past seven.

“After ten.”  Whatever she saw in his expression made Belle giggle.  “It’s Saturday, and you needed the sleep.”

When he instinctively moved to rise, a hand landed on the center of his chest, holding him in place as effectively as iron bonds.  “No.  We are taking the day off,” Belle said firmly.

“The day off?” he repeated, some part of his mind unable to comprehend the idea.  He woke up, ate breakfast, and went to work.  That was what he _did_.

“Yes.  The day off.  Last night _sucked_ , and we deserve some downtime.  So, here’s what’s going to happen.  You are going to stay here while I go downstairs and get us something to eat.  Then we’re going to have breakfast in bed, and after that, we are going to do something _fun_.  I don’t care what.”  Belle ran down the proposed schedule like a drill sergeant, leaving Gold blinking at his wife.

This was a side of her he’d never seen before.  Prior to this, Belle had been docile and agreeable, yielding to whatever he demanded without argument as long as she didn’t think it would negatively impact her father.  Never had she barked orders at him, and Gold was so befuddled that he found himself nodding in agreement before his brain reminded him that he’d meant to spend the day finding a way to pay Cora back for the stunt she’d pulled last night.

Belle beamed at him and landed a kiss on his cheek before she was on her way out the door, not even bothering to pause long enough to brush her hair, leaving him staring after her.  Gold shook his head, wondering where his sweet little kitten of a wife had gone.

Unbidden, Belle’s words from the previous night returned to him— _I’ve been killing myself trying to be the perfect wife!_ — and understanding dawned.  Belle had yielded to him not because she lacked confidence or wanted to defer to her older and wiser husband but because she’d been trying to shape herself into what she thought he wanted, right down to her hairstyle.  

Her attempt to make herself into a Stepford wife had been for his benefit.  She’d been trying only to please him, and he hadn’t realized just how much she was tying herself up in knots until now.  When Belle swanned back into the bedroom with a tray in her hands, her shoulders were loose and relaxed, her head held high and the once tight skin around her eyes was smooth.  Now that she’d dropped the facade of brittle perfection, she seemed brighter and bolder, more comfortable in her own skin.

No change could have pleased him more.  Other men might want the perfect wife.  He just wanted Belle.

Gold sat up against the pillows, a qualm niggling at him.  Breakfast in bed was one of those perfect little housewife duties that he thought she’d rejected.  “I don’t expect you to serve me.”  

At that, she actually snorted as she deposited the tray in his lap.  “You brought me dinner in bed last week.  Today I’m bringing you breakfast.  Next time, it’ll be your turn, or maybe I’ll do it again because I want to.  We’re not keeping score.  There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make my husband happy.”

The look she gave him seemed rich with meaning, and Gold glanced down, feeling unaccountably nervous.  The sight of the breakfast she’d made distracted him from trying to interpret whatever secret message was coded in her words.  “I eat toast for breakfast.”

“There’s toast on that tray,” she pointed out as she claimed the spot next to him.  As if to demonstrate her point, Belle helped herself to a piece of toast and stabbed it directly into the heart of one of the over easy eggs, making yolk pool on the plate.

Toast.  Marmalade.  Coffee.  He ate the same breakfast every day because it was the same breakfast he’d always eaten.  Maybe it was time for a change.  Holding her gaze, he used a piece of toast to mop up a bit of yolk before taking a bite.  “It’s delicious.”

Belle glowed with pleasure at his compliment.  “So, have you decided what we’re going to do today?”

Until that moment, he hadn’t realized she’d been expecting him to make that decision.  “We can do whatever you want.”

“I want my husband to think of something fun for us to do.”  Her words sounded like a challenge, but Belle’s eyes were sparkling like she was inviting him to play a game.  

Fun wasn’t something he’d had vast experience with over the last few decades.  He enjoyed reading and chess, good liquor, and spending time with Belle.  Beyond that, he worked.  The tiny details that were his specialty demanded his full focus, keeping his mind from wandering down paths he preferred not to tread.

Of course, he’d walked one of those paths last night and emerged unscathed.  Now that he had his wife to shed some light on the darkest parts of his mind, perhaps he could risk having a little fun.  “The cabin?” he suggested.  

Belle pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh.  “What’s so much fun about the cabin?”

He’d thought he was doing pretty well, but apparently she didn’t agree.  Gold considered the matter.  She might enjoy shopping.  They could take a road trip to the nearest town with a decent bookstore.  Belle would probably like that, but he wasn’t particularly in the mood to be among other people today.  

“Well?” she prompted, cutting off his train of thought.  “What can we do at the cabin that we can’t do here?”

She was still looking at him expectantly, and Gold floundered for a long moment until he finally realized where she was leading him.  “There’s a nearby creek for swimming  It’s quite secluded.”

Her wicked smile told him that he’d read her correctly.  “It’s a shame that I didn’t get around to buying a bathing suit yet.”

“It’s _very_ secluded.”

“In that case, I can’t wait to see it.”

If she was trying to distract him from the confessions he’d made last night, she didn’t entirely succeed.  Gold felt the absence of his son every moment of every day.  Every part of his world seemed imbued with Bae’s presence even though his boy had never lived in Storybrooke.  He’d bought the cabin the year Bae turned eighteen, hoping against hope that his son would come home again as an adult.  If so, Bae might need some space and privacy as they rebuilt their relationship, and the cabin offered plenty of that.  Bae, however, had never come home.

Still, with Belle at his side as they explored the wooded paths surrounding the cabin, the thoughts of Bae faded into the background of his mind.  Belle was here now, and his wife deserved his full attention.  

When they reached the creek and she promptly slipped out of her sundress, it was easy to focus only on her.  

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Belle asked, her teasing smile making his blood run hot in his veins.

“I’m not much of a swimmer,” he warned, finding his hands going to his tie anyway.

“Don’t worry…”  Belle’s smile was breathtaking.  “I won’t let you drown.”

No, she wouldn’t, he realized.  Last night had been grueling, and after Cora’s stunt, Belle would have been justified had she done a great deal more than just demand he tell her his secrets.  The fact that she’d held him in the aftermath, showering him with compassion and affection in an effort to make him feel less alone, was a testament to her character.

To his relief, Belle busied herself with arranging the blanket and towels they’d brought with them instead of watching as he removed his suit.  The bright sunlight was less generous to his body than their room’s filtered illumination.  

When he reached his boxers, Belle moved closer, an appreciative smile on her face.  “Very nice.”

He chuckled.  “You’re kind.”

“Nope.”  Reaching out, she trailed a finger down the center of his chest until she reached the waistband of his boxers.  “Not kind, just lucky to have such a good looking husband.”

Holding his gaze, she gave his boxers a sharp tug and let them fall, supporting his elbow so he could step out of them without falling on his face.  Gold tilted his head back and took a deep breath of the fresh air, feeling sunlight warming parts of him that he never exposed to the open air.  For a man who dressed in multiple layers of expensive clothing just to walk into his own kitchen, being naked with Belle under the pine trees felt strangely right.

Belle made short work of her own panties and bra, his wife naked as Eve as they stood together on the bank of the creek.  “Lean on me,” she suggested, keeping a firm hold on him as they stepped forward.

The rocks that lined the bank were slippery, but Belle’s grip allowed him to maintain his footing.  The first step took them ankle deep, the water warm and pleasant.  

By the time they were in up to their thighs, Gold was regretting his suggestion to spend the afternoon skinny-dipping.  “It’s _cold_.”

“Well, it’s Maine,” Belle said practically, her teeth on the verge of chattering.  “Once we get used to it, we won’t feel it.  Come on.”

Splashing like water buffalo, they plunged deeper until the water was deep enough for them to leave their feet.  Belle promptly ducked under the water and came up gasping, her hair streaming over her face.  

“Better?” he asked, waiting until she’d nodded doubtfully before submerging himself.

The water was still cold, but as he took a few strokes, it no longer felt like his skin was in danger of shivering off.  Belle paddled circles around him, keeping her head above water like a child learning to swim.  “This is nice.”

The buoyant water took the weight off his bad leg, giving him a few ideas.  With the water to support Belle, he could have his wife’s legs wrapped around his waist as he bucked up into her, a position that would have been untenable on land.  

Belle rolled onto her back to float, her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her face.  Taking advantage of her distraction, Gold silently moved a little closer, slipping one hand out of the water to trace a circle around her puckered nipple.

With a yelp, Belle went under and came up laughing, aiming a splash at him.  “Sneaky!”

“I’m cold.  I need my wife to warm me up,” he explained.

Drifting closer, Belle wrapped her legs around his waist, the contrast between her warm body in his arms and the cold water rushing past him heady.  The sun heating his neck and shoulders was nothing compared to the way his skin burned every place it touched hers.  

“Better?”

“Much.”  

Gold brought his mouth down on hers, his spirit thrilling at how easily she parted her lips to invite him in.  With the sound of birdsong in his ears and Belle’s taste on his tongue, Gold felt more relaxed than he could remember feeling in years.  

When the kiss ended, he worked his way down her throat, feasting on her skin as Belle tilted her head back to grant him better access.  Water droplets glistened on her throat, and he amused himself with lapping them away until her soft voice reached his ears.  “Did you bring Cora here?”

The question broke the mood more efficiently than a bucket of ice water.  Gold pulled back, looking into Belle’s stricken face as she bit her lower lip.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

“Belle…”

“I’m cold.  I want to get out.”  When she tugged herself out of his arms, he released her without protest, following behind as she made her way back to shore.  At the edge of the creek, she once again offered him her support, but it was different this time, her body stiff and her touch businesslike instead of affectionate.

Not sure what was happening, Gold grabbed a towel, drying himself quickly before wrapping it around his waist.  Next to him, Belle was doing the same thing, her back to him, and he was baffled.  Everything had been _fine_.  She knew that Cora was no longer his mistress.  There was no reason, none, for her to worry about things like this.

Once she’d wrapped her own towel around her body, Belle turned to face him, her face pinched.  “I’m sorry, Diarmid.  I had no right to ask that.  It isn’t my business.”

It was no more her place to question his sexual history than it was his place to question hers, but Gold couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed.  Cora’s stunt had made it Belle’s business.  He certainly wouldn’t have been pleased to find himself breaking bread with one of his wife’s former lovers.  

“Cora happened right after I lost Bae.  I was miserable and she was a distraction.  If she ever implies we meant more to each other than that, she’s lying.  I never brought her here, and I never laid a hand on her in our house.”  

Belle let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping.  “Thank you.”

“Sweetheart…”  When he reached out, she stepped into his arms and rested her head against his shoulder.  

“I really am sorry.  We were having such a nice time, and I just… I don’t know.  I just started thinking about that.”  When she snuggled into him, Gold knew that the worst was behind them.

“Thinking about Cora would put anyone off,” he agreed, pleased when she giggled at his assessment of the other woman.  “Do you want to go back to the cabin?”

To his surprise, Belle shook her head.  “No.”  

She stepped out of his arms, holding his gaze as her hands went to her towel and unfastened it to let it drop.  “The sun feels nice.”

“Aye.  It does.”  Taking her hint, Gold tossed his own towel away and lowered himself to the blanket, Belle following a moment later.  She stretched out beside him, so unselfconscious in her nudity that lying naked with her under the sun felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She gave him a playful nudge.  “Think anyone would notice if I took up naked sunbathing in the backyard?”

Gold chuckled at the idea.  “The neighbors would enjoy the show.”

Belle tilted her head back, looking up at him through her eyelashes.  “What about you?  Would you enjoy it?”

“Very much.  Although I’d be so distracted that I’d never get any work done.”

“You work too much.  You need to have more fun.”

“I’m having fun _now_ ,” he pointed out, moving his hand to lightly cup her breast.

Belle gasped, arching into his touch.  “Me too.”

Feeling deliciously relaxed, Gold slowly mapped her body with his hands and lips.  Whenever Belle tried to reach for him to return the favor, he caught hold of her to return her hands to the blanket.  It was his turn, and he was having too much fun feasting upon his wife to allow anything to distract him.

As he dipped his tongue into her naval, a thought occurred to him, and he lifted his head.  “What’s your favorite position?”  They’d experimented since their wedding night, but he’d never actually asked, and now that seemed like a grievous oversight.

Belle shook her head.  “I don’t have one.”

“ _Everyone_ has a favorite position.”  She was lying to him, but he could detect no ill-intent behind her words.

She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, closed it again, then gave him a piercing look.  “Can you kneel?”

Suddenly, the denial made sense.  With his bad leg, she was worried that he wouldn’t be able to get into the position she favored, and she’d rather deny she had a favorite than upset him with the knowledge that he couldn’t do what she wanted.

Fortunately, Belle was underestimating him.  “I can kneel.”

It wasn’t quite that simple.  The soft cushion of grass only did so much, but once the ground beneath them was clear of rocks and they’d folded a few towels to add an extra layer of protection, Gold was able to kneel reasonably comfortably.  

“Touch yourself,” Belle requested.

His erection, which had flagged a bit during their maneuvering, surged back to life as he wrapped his hand around his cock and gave himself a twisting stroke.  Belle’s gaze was riveted to the sight, her lips softly parted.  “I think I might have a new favorite thing.”

Proud that he could excite her, Gold sat up a little straighter and put on a show, varying his strokes as she watched him with hungry eyes, her breath coming fast.  Only when her own thighs parted, her hand straying south, did he stop.  

“You don’t want to watch me?” Belle pouted.

If she kept saying things like that, she was going to be a very wealthy widow within a year, and they’d bury him with a smile on his face.  “I want to watch you for _hours_ ,” he growled.  

However, this wasn’t about what he wanted.  “But I want to do it later.  I believe we were talking about your favorite position?”

“I think you’re right.”  Like a crab, Belle scooted closer until her backside rested on his thighs and drew her legs back, giving him a glimpse of paradise.

That seemed straightforward enough.  He slid into her with a groan, hearing her echoing sigh of pleasure before she spoke again.  “Don’t move.”

Obediently, he held himself still as she carefully straightened her legs until her feet were resting against his left shoulder.  Wriggling a bit, she pressed her hips forward to take him a little deeper, then crossed her ankles.

“Holy _shit_!”  The curse tore out of his mouth with no input from his brain.  For no reason he could understand, crossing her ankles made her already snug channel tight as a vice, her walls clenching him in a fiery grip that threatened to rip his mind apart.  

Belle laughed breathlessly.  “Lean forward as far as you can.”

Sweat ran down his back as he did as she bade, practically bending her in two.  Belle groaned as he sank deeper, her hands going to her breasts to tease her nipples as he started to move.  

With his bad leg, he couldn’t get as much leverage as he wanted, but even the leisurely thrusting he could manage in this position was enough to drive him out of his mind.  Beneath him, Belle was tossing her head at the apex of every thrust, her noises of pleasure growing steadily louder as her body clenched around his.

Gold’s attention was riveted to her breasts, unable to look away as her teasing attentions grew fierce.  Belle pinched her nipples brutally tight, rolling them between thumb and forefinger until they flushed a deep red, begging for his lips to soothe them.  That was the only thing he didn’t like about this position, he decided.  His wife seemed to be endlessly flexible, but _he_ wasn’t.  That needed to be remedied.  Perhaps he should take up yoga.

He focused on the thought in a desperate attempt to stave off his own climax until Belle keened, her body quaking.  Only then did he let himself go, pouring himself into her with a roar of pleasure that sent the few birds stalwart enough to endure their coupling until this point winging for the sky.

Getting themselves untangled took a bit of doing, but soon enough, he was lying on his back to catch his breath while Belle pillowed her head on his chest, tracing her fingers over his stomach.  “What did you think?”

He couldn’t believe she needed to ask.  “I think I have a new favorite position.”


	22. Chapter 22

Gold sighed when he stepped out of the bathroom to see Belle sitting up in bed, her attention riveted to her new tablet and a furrow between her brows.  When he bought her the gift, he’d smiled at the thought of her racking up thousands of dollars worth of charges by downloading ebooks.  Storybrooke didn’t have a bookstore, so instead he’d given her her own personal, portable library.  So far, she didn’t seem to be using it for that purpose.

“Sweetheart… enough.  It’s time for bed.”  He held his hand out expectantly until Belle groaned and handed him the tablet.  

“I was reading up on stem cell therapy.  It shows a lot of promise with stroke patients, but it’s all still in clinical trials.  Do you think Dr. Kurz could get Dad into one of those?  How does that even work?  And—“

Leaning down, he brushed his lips against hers, cutting off her flow of words.  When he pulled back, Belle’s eyelids were fluttering, betraying just how tired she actually was.  It had been a long day.  “You don’t have to solve everything tonight.”

Belle’s shoulders slumped.  “I know.  I just…”

“You’re tired and Kurz dumped a lot on us today,” he finished for her.  He placed the tablet on his own nightstand, so if she woke in the middle of the night, she couldn’t simply grab it and go back to her research without climbing over him.

When he turned out the light and claimed his spot beside her, his wife scooted into his arms with a quiet sigh.  “Thank you for coming with us today.”

“It was no matter,” he assured her.  In truth, he was pleased that Belle had asked him to accompany her to Moe’s appointment with the new doctor.  She might have final say over her father’s care, but including him proved that she valued his opinion and trusted him to support her.  They were becoming a team.

“It was though,” she argued.  “It means a lot to me that you’re so patient with him.”

Maintaining his patience with Moe wasn’t always easy.  Belle’s father had been less than pleased to have his routine disrupted, and even Dove’s endless bag of tricks hadn’t been enough to keep him completely calm.  By the time they reached the doctor’s waiting room, Moe had been _done_ , and Belle hadn’t been far behind.  

The urge to shout at Moe for upsetting Belle had been nearly irresistible, but that only would have made matters worse.  Instead, he’d dragged Belle off for an impromptu tour of the corridors, memories of nights spent caring for an inconsolable infant Bae running through his head.  The more distressed his son became, the more worked up he got in his desperate need to soothe him, and they’d fed off of each other’s hectic energy.  It was only when he managed to calm himself that Bae was able to settle.

To his relief, separating father and daughter for some breathing space seemed to do the trick.  In contrast to the wait, the appointment itself had been a success.  Moe seemed to enjoy being the center of attention, and Gold had been impressed with the doctor.  Kurz, a short man with bushy white whiskers, was gentle and patient with Moe and clearly incredibly knowledgeable about his condition.  

After examining Moe and running a few tests, Kurz had prescribed several new medications, recommended a variety of supplements, given Dove a list of rehabilitation exercises to complete with his patient, and mentioned half a dozen possible therapies that they could try in the future depending on the progress Moe made with his new treatment plan.  Belle had been researching those options since they got Moe settled upon their return home.

“I never want to hear ‘Jailhouse Rock’ again,” he admitted.  The song might soothe Moe, but listening to it on repeat for the entire drive home had had the opposite impact on Gold.

“I’ve been singing it in my head since we got back.”  Belle hummed a few bars of the melody, breaking off with a smothered giggle when he put a playful hand over her mouth to muffle her.

“Now, _I’m_ going to have it stuck in my head,” he groused.  “Thank you ever so much.  What a thoughtful wife you are.”

His dramatic complaints earned him a laugh as Belle relaxed into him, the last of the tension leaving her body.  “I’m a wonderful wife.”

He sniffed haughtily.  “You’re passable.”

“Passable?” Belle snuck a hand under his pajama top to pinch his side.  “I’m _passable_?  That’s it.  You can pick your own tie out tomorrow.”

“A fate worse than death.”

A finger poked him directly in the naval, surprising a sputtering laugh out of him.  “Say it.”

“Say what?”  Gold bit his tongue to hide a smile.  Even in their best days, he and Milah had never been like this.  This sort of affectionate teasing was as alien to him as it was enjoyable.

“Say that I’m a wonderful wife.”

“Or what?”  He affected a bored tone, his hitch of breath betraying him when Belle’s hand snuck lower to stroke lightly over his cock.

“Or I’ll roll over and go to sleep,” she threatened, withdrawing her hand.

She’d chosen her weapons well for this battle.  “You’re a wonderful wife,” he said obediently.

To his dismay, she released him anyway.  “You don’t sound like you mean it.”

There was something inscrutable in her voice, making Gold wonder if they were still playing a game.  If this was a gambit and he fell for it, he’d lose the round, but if the alternative was Belle thinking he was displeased with her, it was worth the risk.  

“You’re a _wonderful_ wife, sweetheart,” he assured her, letting her hear his sincerity.

A faint smile played at Belle’s lips as she challenged, “Prove it.”  It had been a gambit after all.

As Gold slipped under the covers to take his place between her legs, he realized that even though he’d lost their game, he would gladly pay his forfeit.  Besides, Belle was a gracious winner.  She’d be willing to share her spoils with him.

Later that night, falling asleep with his wife’s flavor on his tongue and his body aching with delicious lassitude, he realized he was feeling an emotion he’d thought lost to him since that final, shattering phone call to Bae— happiness.  This wasn’t what he’d envisioned for his life, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy it.  Instead of obsessing about what he’d lost, perhaps he should start focusing on what he had.

Bae would have liked Belle, Gold decided.  For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a world where the timeline of his life had unfolded differently— a world where he’d somehow met Belle young and Bae was their son instead of his child with Milah.  How different things would have been had that happened.  Belle’s patient understanding would have held the family together instead of allowing it to fall apart.  She would have gotten to the root of whatever issue had killed his relationship with his son and helped him fix it before permanent damage was done.

He bit back a flare of resentment that the universe hadn’t allowed that to happen.  Instead, Belle had come along far too late when there was nothing to be done except comfort him when his heart ached for his boy.  His son was older than his wife, he realized for the first time, and the thought chilled him.

Closing his eyes, Gold refused to allow himself to think any further about the issue.  He’d lost Bae, but he had Belle.  Even if this wasn’t the life she would have chosen for herself, she seemed content enough.  He was a good husband, demanding little of her and giving her the means to provide for her father.  He had nothing at all to feel guilty about.

He slept well, waking hours later to the sound of “Jailhouse Rock” playing elsewhere in the house and consternation in his wife’s sleepy blue eyes.  “Instead of the tablet, you should have bought me earplugs.”

“Put them on your Christmas list.”  He was half-tempted to bury his head under his pillow and go straight back to sleep, but the amount of light filtering into the room told him that it was time to start the day.  

Mercifully, the bookcases and thick area rug in his office provided informal soundproofing, and when Gold stuck his head out at noon, the house was again quiet.  Taking advantage of the reprieve, he headed for the kitchen, finding Belle sitting at the island with her tablet in front of her and a fork sticking out of a can of pickled beets.

He watched, vaguely nauseated, as she speared a floppy purple slice of beet without taking her eyes off the screen and transferred it to her mouth with a soft noise of satisfaction.  “What the hell are you doing?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice, chewing and swallowing quickly.  “Updating my Facebook.”

“What?  No.  What are you _eating_?”  His cane clicked on the floor as he limped closer to examine the can, hoping that his eyes had deceived him.  They hadn’t— the label indicated that the beets were a cheap supermarket brand.

Belle looked baffled.  “Pickled beets.  I know it’s a weird lunch, but I was really in the mood for them for some reason.”

“And the housekeeper bought you _these_?”  Gold ground his teeth.  Clearly he was going to have to have a very pointed discussion with his staff about treating his wife with respect.  If Belle wanted to eat pickled beets— and he couldn’t imagine why she would— she deserved better than this over-processed junk.  If the housekeeper didn’t know how to pickle, it was high time that she learned.

Belle’s face cleared when she realized what he was seething about.  “Don’t blame her.  She’s made them for me before and she tried buying jars of these really fancy ones, but it’s just not the same.  I like the canned ones.  Face it, Diarmid.  Your wife is a cheap date.”

The juice had stained her lips a dark purple, a look that would have been enticing if he didn’t know what had caused it.  “You like pickled beets.  Do you have any _other_ deep, dark secrets I should be aware of?”

Snickering, Belle speared a slice of beet and held it to his mouth.  “Come on, open up,” she wheedled.

“I don’t—“  

Before he got any more words out, Belle shoved the fork into his mouth and lifted her eyebrows expectantly.  Wincing, Gold chewed his mouthful, trying not to gag as the sour taste of cheap vinegar mingled on his tongue with the putrid combination of sweetness and dirt that were the beets themselves.

With difficulty, he managed to swallow.  “That’s absolutely disgusting.”

“They’re not that bad.  They’re earthy,” Belle defended her snack.

“That’s just another way of saying they taste like dirt.  Pickled dirt.”

Belle shrugged off his condemnation and helped herself to another slice of beet.  “More for me.”

Once she’d finished her mouthful, she pursed her lips and batted her eyelashes playfully.  “Kiss me.”

“I’ll pass.”  

“Oh come on.”  She leaned in, pouting when he evaded her.  “You’re my husband.  You have to kiss me whenever I want, remember?”

Gold took a few steps back, Belle stalking after him like a jungle cat.  “I’ll kiss you as much as you want if you brush your teeth first.”

“Are you really going to let a couple of beets stop you?  Dove took Dad out for a walk.  We have the whole house to ourselves.”

Beets or no, that was a situation too tempting to ignore.  However, he’d already lost one round of their game last night, and it was too soon to lose another.  “The sooner you brush your teeth, the sooner we can take advantage of our rare moment of privacy.”

When Belle burst into laughter, he echoed her, conscious of her eyes upon him, warm and affectionate.  “It’s so nice to see you smile for once.”

Gold rested his hands on her waist when she stepped closer.  “I smile,” he protested.

“Yeah, but it’s different now.”  Belle regarded him curiously.  “Now it looks like you actually mean it.”

Part of him wanted to scowl at her, to compose his face into cold, forbidding lines to disguise anything in his expression that might betray him.  His experience with Milah had taught him that softness and affection were weaknesses.  It wouldn’t do for Belle to start thinking she could make him dance like a puppet on a string just because he was fond of her.

Another part of him insisted that such a defense wasn’t necessary.  Belle wasn’t Milah.  He had nothing to fear from her.  She wouldn’t take lovers or abandon him.  Even if she wanted to, the prenup forbade it.  That document alone ensured she would remain always at his side, his faithful wife.

To cover his consternation at the thought, Gold dipped his head to kiss her, relishing the feel of her surprised laugh against his lips.  “I still taste like beets,” Belle warned.

“I’ll live with it.”  

He could taste vinegar on her lips, but underneath it was the taste of Belle herself, and that was enough to satisfy him.  With a breathy noise, she parted her lips for him, and he was just pressing her back, meaning to take advantage of the height of the island for a more engaging pursuit than lunch, when a clatter of noise from the garden brought him up short.

Belle groaned against his lips.  “They’re back.”

“So it would seem.”  Gold pulled back, doing his best not to let his irritation show.  He owned this house.  He should be able to pleasure his wife in any room of it at any time of day.  Instead, Dove and Moe were constantly underfoot.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath through his nose and reminded himself that this was what he’d signed up for.  Belle and Moe were a package deal.  If it wasn’t for her father, she never would have agreed to marry him.  

“Hey…”  Belle’s voice was tentative.  “You okay?”

After another deep breath, he felt centered enough to open his eyes.  “Next time they go out for a walk, call me when they leave.”

Belle smiled wickedly when she caught his meaning.  “I can do that.”

When he moved to return to his office and leave her to whatever she’d been doing, Belle caught his hand.  “Take a selfie with me.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any pictures of us together, and I want to show you off.”  She bit her lip.  “You don’t mind if I post about you, do you?”

“Why would you want to?”  Gold had never seen the appeal of plastering his life across the internet like so many members of Belle’s generation were wont to do.

For an instant, she didn’t seem to know what to say, then she poked him in the ribs.  “Because you’re my husband, silly!  I want people to see how happy we are together.”

When she put it like that, he couldn’t argue.  Obediently, he smiled for the pictures she wanted to take, nodding his approval when Belle showed them to him.  “Post whatever you want, but I doubt anyone will care.”

“Oh, I don’t know… Regina and Jackie already sent me friend requests.”  

He winced.  “Don’t feel obligated.”  After her unpleasant introduction to his business associates, he wouldn’t ask her to communicate with them outside of business functions.

Belle kissed his cheek.  “Don’t worry.  I know how to play this game.”

“This isn’t one of your duties,” he assured her.  “You’re my wife, not my secretary.”

“I’m doing it because I want to.  I want to try to track some people down.”  Apparently thinking he didn’t understand, she hastened to explain.  “You know, college friends… people I knew back in Australia… things like that.”

There was a hint of nervousness in her voice that gave him pause, making him wonder how many of these long-lost friends were male.  Was the mysterious boy from Maine perhaps included among them?

The thought was unworthy of Belle, and he dismissed it.  If his wife wanted to carry on a torrid online love affair, she would hardly kick it off by posting pictures of her husband.  Belle missed her friends, that was all.  It would do her good to reconnect with people who’d known her when she was younger and carefree.  Caring for Moe hadn’t left her much time for friendships, but now that she was a lady of leisure, she could rekindle those relationships.

“I hope you’re able to find everyone you’re looking for.”

Belle’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “Me too.”

The look in her eyes was more serious than seemed appropriate for something like social media.  “Is everything all right?”

“It’s just… it’s been a long time.  People change, you know?  What if I find them and wish I hadn’t?”  There was something desperate in her voice.

Gold wrapped his arms around her, trying to soothe her worry even if he couldn’t understand it.  “If you don’t like who they’ve become, you don’t have to stay in contact with them.  It’s just Facebook.”

“That’s true.”  Belle rested her head against his shoulder.  “And it’s better to know one way or another than to have to wonder.”

“I’d rather you didn’t go looking up any old boyfriends.”  He’d meant the words to sound teasing, but they came out more like a plea.

Belle chuckled.  “You don’t have anything to worry about.  All my exes are exes for a reason.”

She squeezed him a little tighter, then looked up at him, her face earnest.  “I wouldn’t do that to you, Diarmid.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”  Belle wasn’t Milah.  He could trust her to keep her word and uphold her vows.

Belle’s face softened.  “Good.”

He leaned down for another kiss before releasing her.  “Have fun with your Facebook.  Just don’t give yourself eyestrain.”

She grinned at him.  “If I do, I’ll be sure to blame you.  You’re the one who bought me the tablet.”

“What a cruel husband I am.”  Gold landed a playful swat on her behind, cursing Moe and Dove’s existence when Belle wriggled against his hand.  Couldn’t their walk have lasted just a bit longer?

As though reading his mind, Belle gave him a regretful look.  “I think I’ll suggest to Dove that daily walks will do Dad good.”

“They’ll certainly do _me_ good,” Gold agreed.  He was positive—absolutely certain—that the kitchen island was exactly the right height for a few things he very much wanted to try.

If they’d waited this long to try those things, they could wait another day.  All he had to do was get through the remainder of his workday with visions of having his wife for lunch dancing in his head.  That reminded him…

He waved a reproving finger at her.  “No pickled beets tomorrow.”

Belle’s laughter followed him out of the room.  “I promise nothing!”


	23. Chapter 23

Gold winced at the sound of retching coming from the en suite bath.

It was either very late or very early.  He couldn’t quite tell which. From the bathroom, he could hear the sound of water running, Belle’s attempt to drown out the noises she was making.  No doubt she’d be mortified if she knew he could hear her.

He sighed.  There was no point to getting out of bed only to find himself talking to a locked door.  This episode was the third in twelve hours, and the previous two times, Belle had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t need her husband’s company for this.  Gold was currently trying not to be annoyed about that.  After only six weeks of marriage he couldn’t really blame her for still being a bit shy of him, but he was her husband.  It was his duty to comfort his wife when she was unwell.

Eventually, the bathroom door opened, and Belle shuffled back to bed, reclaiming her spot beside him with a soft moan.  “We’re going to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Diarmid!”  Belle started so hard that the entire bed shook.  “I thought you were asleep.  I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“First thing in the morning, I’m calling the doctor.”  Belle had brushed off her first two episodes of sickness as a reaction to the grouper they’d had for dinner, and he was unwilling to accept that explanation.  He’d eaten the same thing, and he felt fine.  Ergo, it wasn’t the grouper.

“I’m fine,” Belle said stubbornly, all evidence to the contrary.

Gold was in no mood to play games.  If she was vomiting, she wasn’t fine.  “You’re sick, and you need a doctor.”

“I’m not paying a doctor to tell me I have a stomach bug.  That’s ridiculous.”  Next to him, Belle rolled onto her back, and even though it was too dark for him see her face, he could feel her glaring at the ceiling.  

He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again as he digested her words.  Her reference to payment filled in all the information he needed to understand what was motivating her refusal to see a doctor.  

In the years she’d spent caring for Moe, Belle had forgone a great many things— her education, hot meals, and sleep were just the tip of the iceberg.  As much as she’d had to struggle to make ends meet, there would have been no money left over for medical care unless the situation was utterly dire.  Any money she had would have gone to Moe’s care, not to maintain her own good health.  Even now that money was no object, years of habit still gave her that same knee jerk reaction to the idea of seeking care for herself.

With that in mind, Gold tried a different tactic.  Rolling onto his side, he reached out and rested a gentle hand on her stomach.  “Sweetheart, humor me, all right?  Your husband worries about you.”

As he’d hoped, the emotional appeal did more to soften her than any logical argument would have.  A moment later, Belle was snuggling into his arms, the faint scent of mint on her breath telling him that she’d made a point of brushing her teeth.  Even when she was unwell, she was still trying to please him.  He could use that.

“I’ll feel better once I know it’s nothing serious.  Won’t you?  Even if it’s just a bug, the doctor can give you some medicine to help you feel better.”  He was manipulating her, but Gold refused to feel guilty about it.  Belle’s wellbeing was at stake.

Belle made a grumbling noise.  “I’ll feel stupid wasting his time.”

“That’s his job,” Gold reminded her.  “Besides, you don’t know Whale.  He’s not going to complain about having to spend time with a gorgeous woman.”

As he hoped, Belle snickered.  “Which gorgeous woman were you planning on taking with us?  Should I be jealous?”

If she could joke with him, she must not be feeling that poorly.  Even so, he’d feel better once Whale gave her a clean bill of health.  “No one special.  Just my wife.”

Belle snuggled closer.  “Tell me about your wife.”

For a moment, he was tempted to make a joke out of it, but the way Belle was softly caressing his side dissuaded him.  The teasing was fun, but she deserved to hear some nice things about herself.

“Well, to start with, she’s ravishingly beautiful.  Gorgeous blue eyes and an accent that makes me melt, but she’s more than a pretty face.  She’s smart— _loves_ to read— and kind. She’s utterly devoted to her family.  And she’s probably more patient with me than I deserve.”  Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t always made this marriage easy for her, but Belle hadn’t held his mistakes against him.

A breathless hiccup made him wonder if she was crying.  “Belle?”

“She…”  Belle cleared her throat and tried again.  “She sounds like quite a paragon.”

“She is.”  He kissed the top of her head.  “I’m quite fond of her.”

“Oh, Diarmid…”  The words hung in the air like she’d intended to say more.

“Get some sleep,” he advised when it became clear that she’d lost her train of thought.  A good night’s sleep could only help, and if she was still ill in the morning, he’d be calling Whale.

Belle woke twice more in the night to be sick, so Gold was up at dawn to place a call to Dr. Whale.  By eight in the morning they were in his office at the hospital, the doctor eying his wife with frank interest.

“She’s thrown up five times in twelve hours,” he growled, and Whale took the hint, snapping into professional mode.

“Have you eaten anything out of the ordinary?  Do you have any known food allergies?”  Whale took Belle’s temperature as he spoke.

“No allergies.  We had grouper for dinner last night.  I’ve never had that before.”  Belle shrugged a little.  “I thought maybe I had food poisoning.”

“Except I ate the same thing, and I’m fine,” Gold finished for her.

“Probably not the grouper then.”  Whale took Belle’s blood pressure and jotted down a few notes.  “Other symptoms?”

“Isn’t the vomiting enough?” Gold groused.

“Not really.”  At Belle’s reproving look, he took a deep breath.

“Any chance of pregnancy?”

Whale’s question hit him like a two by four.  They’d agreed to put children on hold for an indefinite period, and Belle was supposed to be taking care of that.  His wife had been clear that she eventually wanted children, but that was for some distant future point, not _now_.

Next to him, Belle blanched.  “I have an IUD.”

“That’s about as close to foolproof as you can get, but nothing’s a hundred percent reliable.  I’ll run a test just in case, and we’ll take it from there.  The results will determine what sort of anti-nausea medication I prescribe.  There’s a nasty stomach bug going around, which is probably what you have, but better safe than sorry.”

When a nurse came to usher Belle out of the room to get a urine sample, Gold remained where he was, staring sightlessly at the rather tasteless watercolor on the opposite wall.  There was a chance, however small, that Belle was carrying his child.

He didn’t have the slightest idea how to feel about that.

A baby would be a second chance.  Not a replacement for Bae— nothing could ever fill the hole his son’s absence left in his heart— but another shot at fatherhood.  He’d do better this time.  This time, he had a partner who actually wanted to be a mother.  Between the two of them, they should manage not to screw up so spectacularly that the new child decided not to have anything to do with them.  This would be a child that he could _keep_.

Or would it?

What if there was something wrong with him?  What if there was something horrible so deeply rooted in his soul that he wasn’t even aware of it that made it impossible for any child to love him?  As soon as Bae had the option, he’d taken off for the other side of the country and refused to return.  No parent-child relationship was perfect, but that wasn’t normal.  Clearly, he’d done something horrifically wrong if his son wouldn’t even speak to him, and no amount of self-reflection was enough to show him where he’d made the mistake.  If he didn’t know where he’d gone wrong, how would he know not to do it again?

Maybe he was simply doomed to repeat his own father’s sins.  He’d fled Malcolm Gold’s clutches as soon as he could, and Bae had done the same thing to him.  If he had another child, what would stop everything from going to hell?  Belle wasn’t a miracle worker, and she already had her hands full with Moe.

Gold closed his eyes at the thought.  Moe’s routine was fragile enough as it was.  Adding a baby to the mix would be a disaster.  

Belle returned to the room a few minutes later and reclaimed her seat, her back ramrod straight and her face pale.  “How are you feeling?”

“Nauseous.”  The word was clipped, and he could see her visibly trying to relax.  “Dr. Whale seems nice.”

“I suppose.”  The doctor was competent, which was enough for him.  Bedside manner ranked low on Gold’s list of priorities.

After that, they lapsed into a silence so loud that it filled the room completely, stealing the air.  Gold didn’t quite dare ask what Belle was thinking.  The only thing worse than hearing her say that she was praying that she wasn’t pregnant would be to hear that she hoped she was.

They weren’t ready for this.  There was no way— absolutely no way— that he was prepared to be a father again.  This couldn’t be happening.

What could have been minutes or hours later, Whale breezed back into the room.  “Good news!  You just have a stomach bug.”

“I’m not pregnant?” Belle asked, her voice a careful monotone.

“You’re not pregnant,” Whale confirmed, glancing back and forth between the two of them in confusion.  “I’m sorry, should I have been more tactful in breaking the news?  Since you’re using birth control, I assumed you’d be pleased.”

Belle’s shoulders slumped.  “No.   No, you told us what we wanted to hear.”

“Absolutely,” Gold agreed, telling himself firmly that he felt nothing but relief.

“Okay.”  Whale continued to watch them for a moment before shaking off the odd mood in the room.  “In that case, the bad news is that this thing has to just run its course for two or three days.  The good news is that I can give you something to mitigate the symptoms.  You have your choice between two anti-nausea medications.  The first one is about sixty percent effective, but you’ll be awake and alert.”

Belle pulled a face.  “Even sixty percent less vomiting is about forty percent more than I want.”

Whale nodded in sympathy.  “Your second option will take care of the nausea, but it’ll also knock you on your ass.  The label says not to operate any heavy machinery, but you won’t even be able to stay awake long enough to use a hair dryer.  If you don’t have any plans for the next couple days, that’s what I’d go with.”

After exchanging a look with him, Belle turned her attention back to the doctor.  “I’ll take option two.”

“I’ll call it in to the pharmacy, and you can pick it up on your way home.  Two pills every four hours or whenever you wake up.”  Whale held up a cautionary finger.  “Get settled in bed or on the couch _before_ you take the first dose.  And make sure you’re drinking plenty of fluids.  You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

When Whale left to make the promised call to the pharmacy, Belle gathered her purse, her brow furrowed.  “Maybe I should have gone with option one.”

“It’s not too late to call him back,” Gold reminded her.  “Did you have plans?”

She hadn’t mentioned anything to him, and that stung a little.  He didn’t expect his wife to report in, but it would be nice if she kept him in the loop about what was going on in her life.

“No, I’m just thinking about Dad.  He’s used to our daily board game dates, and it might bother him if I don’t show.”  As Belle dithered, Gold took hold of her elbow to usher her out.

“Would he accept a substitute?”  Spending an hour playing board games with Moe wasn’t exactly his idea of fun, but if it would put Belle’s mind at ease, he’d take on the task.

“You’d do that?”  Belle’s face softened.  “That’s really sweet.”

“It’s nothing.”  Gold shrugged off her praise, uncomfortable with the warm feeling spreading through the pit of his stomach.  “You need to rest up and get better.  Your father would want that too.”

They made it as far as the edge of the parking lot before Belle turned green.  “I’ve got you,” Gold assured her, quickly hooking his cane over his arm to free his hands.  He steadied her with one, the other taking hold of her hair to keep it out of her face as she lost the contents of her stomach in a bush.

Belle retched, then coughed before straightening up, her face a picture of misery.  “Poor sweetheart,” Gold murmured as he wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her as they made their way to the car.

As he got her settled in the passenger seat, Belle stuck her tongue out, wincing.  “I feel disgusting.”

He landed a kiss on her forehead.  “We’ll pick up your medicine and get you home.  You’ll feel better once you’re in bed.”  

Belle fumbled in her purse until she found a mint, popping it into her mouth with a sigh of relief.  “I hate throwing up.”

“I sincerely doubt that anyone enjoys it,” he pointed out, his voice dry.

The drive between the hospital and the pharmacy was short.  “Should I pick anything else up for you?  Whale says you need to stay hydrated.  Are there any revolting beverages that you’re particularly fond of?  Kool-Aid or perhaps that chocolate drink with the rabbit on the label?”

As he hoped, his gentle mockery of her eating habits made her laugh, the sound abruptly cutting off with a moan of dismay.  “Oh, don’t make me laugh.  I’ll puke again.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”  He’d meant only to cheer her up.

“Maybe some ginger ale?” she requested.

“Of course.  I’ll just be a moment.”

Her prescription wasn’t ready when Gold reached the counter, but at his scowl of displeasure, the pharmacist leaped into action.  While the man was scurrying to do his job, he confronted the ginger ale selection, frowning at the assortment.  

His natural inclination was to select the artisan soda, but what he knew of Belle’s tastes made him hesitate.  She was more likely to appreciate the generic brand that had never been within fifty meters of an actual ginger root.  

“Mr. Gold?  Your prescription is ready.”  

With a huff, he grabbed both options, ignoring the cashier’s puzzled look.  If it made Belle feel better, he’d buy stock in the cheap brand as long as she didn’t expect him to drink it himself.  

Purchases in hand, he returned to the car, holding up the generic soda as he approached for her approval.  Her brilliant smile assured him that he’d chosen wisely.  “What?  They didn’t have a ginger ale that’s aged for twelve years and filtered through gemstones?” she teased as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“I bought that one too,” he admitted.

“Of course you did.”  Belle smiled fondly at him.  “Thanks for buying the normal stuff too.”

“I try to keep my wife happy.”  He wasn’t sure why her eyes went glassy.

“That’s wise.  Happy wife, happy life.”  

“And you’ll be much happier once you feel better,” he said practically.  “Let’s get you home and get some medicine in you.”

Belle closed her eyes as he drove, making him wonder if she’d fallen asleep.  If she had, there was no way he could get her out of the car, and Gold mentally cursed his bad leg.  What sort of a husband couldn’t carry his wife to bed?  He supposed he could call Dove to do it, but the thought of Belle in another man’s arms disturbed him for reasons he chose not to reflect on.

To his relief, she opened her eyes as he pulled into the garage.  Gold helped her out of the car and guided her upstairs, wincing when she broke away from him to run for the bathroom.  

By the time he caught up with her, Belle was draped over the toilet, tears slowly leaking down her face.  “You’re all right,” he soothed as he wetted a cloth with cool water to blot her flushed face.  “Come on now.”

She leaned on him as he undressed her and tucked her into bed.  “Isn’t that better?” he asked as he shook out two pills and handed them to her.  If the medication worked as fast as Whale said it would, she’d be asleep in a matter of minutes.

“You’re a good husband,” Belle mumbled as she popped the pills into her mouth and took the glass of water he offered her.  The moment the pills were down, she collapsed with a groan, burrowing into the blankets.  

“Can I get you anything?”

“Will you hold me?  Just until I fall asleep?”  Her voice was tiny.

Her request made his heart ache.  Belle trusted him enough to want his comfort when she was feeling vulnerable and under the weather.  “Of course I will, sweetheart.”

He toed off his shoes and quickly shrugged out of his jacket before joining her under the covers, spooning up behind her.  Belle snuggled back into his embrace, sighing when he started to gently rub her belly.  “I’ve got you,” he crooned.  “You just rest, sweetheart.  You’ll feel so much better when you wake up.”

“Thanks for staying with me,” she murmured, already half-asleep.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”  Even as he said the words, Gold could taste the truth of them.  This was exactly where he wanted to be—wrapped around his wife even if she felt too miserable even to talk to him.  He’d happily lie here all day with Belle and consider himself fortunate that she found comfort in his arms.  His work responsibilities could go hang.  All that mattered was that she feel better.  He’d do anything to make that happen.

Gold clutched Belle closer as he realized with dawning horror what was happening.

He’d fallen in love with his wife.

Oh _hell_.


	24. Chapter 24

No matter how hard Gold tried to shove his revelation down and bury it deep in his subconscious where he didn’t have to deal with it, his heart refused to release the idea.  With every beat, it spoke its truth—he was in love with Belle.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply to let the scent of her comfort him.  The woman responsible for his emotional turmoil was also the only one who could soothe him.  His mouth twisted at the irony.  Love was a ridiculous thing.

How long had this been going on?  Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he could see so many red flags that he’d ignored at the time.  Despite making his expectations for their marriage clear, he’d refused to hold Belle responsible for fulfilling any of them at the slightest hint that she took no pleasure from simple tasks like choosing his ties and rubbing his shoulders.  Even more damningly, when they wrote the prenup he’d caved to the clause she’d requested outlining the support she would be owed if he chose to divorce her.  At the time, Gold had told himself that it didn’t matter what he promised her because he’d never file, but now he realized that he’d given in because he wanted her to feel secure.  Had he loved her even then?

He winced as he realized it might well go back even farther than that.  He’d been enraged to see another man’s ring on her finger—mad with jealousy, he admitted to himself—and he’d jumped to the idea of marrying her himself very quickly for a man who once swore off all emotional entanglements.  If he just wanted Belle’s company, he could have offered to pay her father’s expenses in exchange for making her his companion or caretaker, but instead he’d demanded that she become his _wife_.

How could he have been so blind for so long?

And now here they were, he thought bitterly.  He was in love with a woman who’d agreed to marry him only to protect her father, a woman who might be fond of him, but who hardly would have chosen him as a husband if other considerations hadn’t forced her hand.  The thought of Belle’s mysterious boy from Maine had always set his teeth on edge, but now it broke his heart to know that there was another man out there with more claim to Belle’s affections than he had.  When they made love, did she think of him?

The thought made him want to smash things.  Gold rolled out of bed, needing to put as much distance between himself and Belle as he could.  Even in sleep, her illness made her look pinched and pale, and he longed to take her sickness into his own body and bear it for her.  If she was awake, he’d be tempted to promise her anything—absolutely _anything_ —to make her smile again, and that was a dangerous line of thinking.

Fortunately, Belle was asleep, so there was nothing he could do save for fetching her a can of cheap ginger ale and placing it on her nightstand should she wake when he wasn’t there.  He couldn’t be near her right now, not until he got his head together.

Satisfied that the soda can was arranged so she couldn’t possibly miss it, Gold took himself downstairs to his office, ignoring his desk and the comfortable distraction of his work in favor of pacing the room like a caged tiger.  He loved Belle, and he had no idea what to do with that.

He couldn’t tell her, that much was clear.  After his frequent diatribes about how ridiculous love was, Belle would be justified if she laughed in his face should he declare himself.  Even as he had the thought, Gold dismissed it.  Belle wouldn’t be cruel enough to laugh at him.  She wasn’t Milah.

Milah had taken advantage of his love again and again.  For her, he’d left his beloved Scotland behind in favor of New York.  He’d accepted her simpering arguments when he caught her bringing her lovers into their bed.  _  
_

_Why don’t you want me to be happy, Diarmid?  If you love me, you have to let me be free._

Bile rose in his throat at the thought of Belle saying those words to him.  If he loved her, he had to put her happiness first, and that probably meant letting her visit her lover.

A shock of pain through his hand made him look down, and he realized he was clutching a brass ornament so tightly that the edges were cutting into his palm.  He replaced it, watching numbly as a droplet of blood oozed over his skin.

With a muttered curse, he grabbed a tissue to blot it away, the smear of red a match for the film that descended over his vision at the thought of Belle in another man’s arms.  When Milah was unfaithful, it had hurt, but with the clarity afforded by distance, Gold could see that his first wife’s indiscretions had affected no more than his pride.  He’d been embarrassed and offended, but not truly damaged.

If Belle took a lover, it would destroy him.

She’d promised to be faithful to him, and Belle wasn’t a liar.  If he didn’t give her his permission to see her boy from Maine, he trusted that she would do no such thing.  Her innate honesty would keep her faithful, and the prenup would keep her with him forever.  He would never divorce her, and if she wanted Moe to be cared for, she couldn’t divorce him.

He’d imprisoned her in a gilded cage, and he wasn’t sure if he felt more sick or relieved about it.  Unlike everyone else, Belle was his to keep.  He would never be parted from the woman he loved, but the only reason she was with him was because he’d trapped her.  For the rest of his life, he would have to endure knowing that his wife was with him out of love for her father, not for him.

If he told her he loved her, he would be giving her leverage over him.  Belle wasn’t the sort of woman who’d take advantage of that, but how could anyone resist that sort of power?  Right now, they were equal partners and it was working.  If she knew that he would do anything she asked, the balance would shift, and the once stable foundation of their marriage would crack.

He’d promised her honesty, but not telling her didn’t really count as a lie.  Since she didn’t return his feelings, it would probably only make her uncomfortable if she knew he loved her.  By not telling her, he wasn’t lying to her; he was protecting her and their marriage.

Satisfied with the decision that he’d made, Gold moved to sit down at his desk, but a glance at the clock brought him up short.  It was nearly one o’clock, and he’d promised to take Belle’s place playing board games with her father for an hour.  Nothing good could come of Moe being off his schedule.

On his way upstairs, he paused to check on Belle, finding his wife asleep in exactly the same position he’d left her in.  Unable to resist, he leaned down to kiss her forehead and adjust her blankets before making his way down the hall to Moe’s room.  As the grandfather clock in the hallway struck one, he stepped inside to meet Moe’s puzzled eyes.

“Belle isn’t feeling well, so I’m going to play with you today,” he explained.  “Is that all right with you?”

Moe gave him a suspicious look.  “Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s napping.  Her stomach is upset.”  It was a fine line to walk between upsetting Moe with the news that his daughter was unwell and downplaying her illness so much that he demanded her company.

“Oh dear.”  Dove shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “Poor Mrs. Gold.”

When Gold glanced at him, Dove’s appearance gave him pause.  The big man, normally immaculate, looked disheveled, and the hint of green in his complexion spoke volumes.  He had just long enough to wonder if Belle had given the stomach bug to Dove or if he’d given it to her, when Dove muttered a quick apology and darted for Moe’s bathroom, the sound of retching escaping through the closed door.

“Wonderful,” he muttered.  

Moe winced.  “Poor guy.”

“I’ll be right back,” Gold cautioned, hoping that Belle’s father had enough sense not to get into any trouble during the five minutes that Dove was indisposed.  As quickly as he could, he gathered a pair of Belle’s anti-nausea pills and the artisan ginger ale he’d bought earlier.  Under normal circumstances, Dove would appreciate it.  

As soon as he had a chance, he’d call Whale and demand a second prescription for Dove.  The pharmacy could deliver it, which would solve one problem.  That just left Moe.

There had been no mention in Dove’s contract of sick time, and Gold was starting to realize that was a grievous oversight.  He could call Dove’s agency and demand a substitute caretaker to fill in while Dove was ill, but a moment’s thought made him dismiss the idea.  Belle was picky about her father’s care, and she would _not_ be pleased to find a stranger attending to him.

He could turn Moe over to the housekeeper, but considering that overnight she’d gone from cooking and cleaning for one person to four, that was pushing his luck even if he had given her a raise.  Besides, Mrs. Potts was a housekeeper, not a personal care aide.

That left only one option, and Gold pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as he mentally braced himself.  He’d raised Bae for eight years.  Surely, he could keep Moe alive for a few days.

Gold sighed in relief when he found Moe where he’d left him.  As a bleary Dove staggered out of the bathroom, he proffered the pills and ginger ale.  “Go get some rest.”

Dove lifted a hand to take the supplies, then let it drop again, looking defeated.  “I have responsibilities.”

“Yes, you do, and therefore I would like you to recover as quickly as possible so you can resume them.”  Gold pressed the pills into his hand.  “Now go to bed.”

It was a testament to how ill Dove was that the man didn’t even look back after he’d taken the pills and ginger ale and shuffled off in the direction of his own bedroom, leaving Gold alone with Moe.

“All right, Moe!”  Gold winced at the sound of his own voice.  He sounded artificially cheerful, like one of the more irritating children’s show presenters he remembered from Bae’s early exposure to television.  “What do you want to play?”

Moe looked more than a bit dubious.  “Where’s Belle?”

“She’s sick.  She and Dove are both sick, so it’s just you and me.”  Gold tried to smile, the expression feeling more like a grimace.  “What should we play first?”

“I don’t want to play with you,” Moe said rudely.

“I don’t want to play with you either, but we’re stuck with each other,” Gold shot back before he could bite his tongue.

Moe nodded like he’d said something wise.  “All right then.”  Without another word, he went to the pile of game boxes and withdrew Battleship, humming under his breath as Gold stared at him.

For long moments, he watched Moe set up his game board, his face a picture of concentration.  Once he was satisfied, he looked up and frowned.  “Aren’t you playing?”

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Gold asked as he moved to sit opposite the other man.

“What?”

“Making me crazy.”

“What?”

“Forget it.”  He hadn’t played Battleship since Bae left, but as he fingered the small ships, it started to come back to him.  There was a time when he was good at this.

“D-7.”

Moe flashed him a look of irritation.  “I want to go first.  H-3.”

Gold glanced down at his own board and groaned.  “You _cannot_ be serious.  Hit.”

Moe looked so delighted by his success than Gold couldn’t hold on to his annoyance.  His father-in-law was a bit like Bae in that way—fiercely competitive but so honestly happy when he did well that it was impossible to be cross with him.  For the first time, memories of his son brought more pleasure than pain.  Perhaps he’d been hasty in thinking that another child would be a disaster.  He’d nearly forgotten how much fun fatherhood could be.

Of course, there was still Moe’s schedule to think of.  Although Gold had never played much of a role in his father-in-law’s daily routine, he was at least familiar with it.  After an hour of board games, Moe would take a nap, then spend the rest of the time before dinner doing enrichment therapy with Dove.  He would eat dinner with the rest of the family in the dining room and spend some time socializing before retiring to his room for his wind-down activities.

When he tried to picture the rest of the day, the image was daunting, so Gold focused on the small chunk of time in front of him right now.  Once Moe was settled for his nap, he could check on Belle and go through Dove’s notes in hopes of figuring out what he was supposed to do when Moe woke up.

Naturally, things immediately went off the rails.

“I’m not tired,” Moe denied when Gold informed him that it was two o’clock.

This was something else he remembered from Bae’s early years.  “I bet that if you lie down, you’ll fall asleep.”

“I don’t want to fall asleep.”  Moe didn’t even look up as he started rearranging his ships.

“You don’t have to sleep.  Why don’t you just rest for a little while?”  After losing six games of Battleship, resting sounded extremely tempting.

“Because I’m not tired.”

Dove could convince Moe to do whatever he wanted just by altering his vocal inflections and body language.  Most of the time, he managed to make Moe think that it was his own idea.  Gold, on the other hand, lacked all of Dove’s training and the vast majority of his patience.

“If you lie down for an hour, we can go to the workshop afterward so you can work on your project until dinner,” he bargained.  No matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be Dove.  He’d might as well play to his own strengths.

Moe’s eyes brightened.  “Half an hour.”

“Forty-five minutes.”  As negotiations went, it lacked elegance, but if it worked, he’d throw in ice cream for dessert as well as the workshop time.

“Deal.”  Two seconds later, Moe was on the bed, his eyes closed.  One second after that, he was snoring.

Gold rubbed the back of his neck as he put away the scattered pieces of the game.  This was insanity.  Absolute insanity.  If he had any sense, he’d call the agency while Moe was asleep and arrange for backup because he was utterly unsuited for this task.

Only the thought of Belle’s distress kept him from doing just that.  There was nothing in the world more important to her than her father.  If he was able to take care of Moe, that would surely win him points in his wife’s eyes.  

After placing a quick call to Whale to secure medication for Dove, Gold retreated to his own bedroom.  Belle’s face had lost some of its pinched look, and the visible sign of her improvement heartened him.  He tickled the tip of her nose, careful to do it lightly enough that he wouldn’t disturb her if she wasn’t on the verge of waking.

Drowsy blue eyes flickered open.

“There you are,” he murmured.  

“Diarmid?”  Her voice was rusty.

“Here.  You should drink something.”  He sat down on the edge of the bed so she could lean on him as he handed her the can of ginger ale.

“I don’t feel good,” Belle whimpered.

“I know you don’t, sweetheart.”  He kissed the top of her head as she took a few sips of soda before pushing the can away.  “You’re due for more pills.”

Obediently, Belle swallowed the medication before flopping back down on the bed with a groan.  He smoothed her hair away from her face.  “Can I get you anything, sweetheart?”

A soft snore answered him, and Gold shook his head with a chuckle.  Unable to resist temptation, he spooned up behind her, relishing the feel of her soft form in his arms.  When Belle snuggled back into his embrace, he allowed himself to pretend that it was more than just her instinctively seeking his body warmth.  As he tightened his grip on her, he imagined that she was pressing closer because she loved him and hated to have any distance between them.

It was a pretty illusion, and he clung to it, trying to avoid the less pleasant reality: no one loved Diarmid Gold.  Not one person in his life—his father, his mother, his wife, his son—had ever actually loved him.

Belle might not love him either, but at least she was here.  That was enough.  He could love her enough for both of them as long as he never told her the truth.  It was better that she think there was nothing between them save for friendship and respect.  They’d both agreed to abide by those rules.  Changing them now would be unfair.

Still… it _would_ be nice if his wife loved him.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the patch of skin just below her ear and sighed.  He was married to the woman he loved, and he had a written contract tying her to him permanently.  Mere love offered no such security.  It wasn’t a fairy tale ending but it was solid and secure.  Gold would choose safety over love any day of the week.

He didn’t need Belle’s love.  He just needed _her_.

The jangle of sleigh bells distracted him from his thoughts.  Moe was on the move.

“The things I do for you,” he murmured in her ear before regretfully dragging himself out of bed.  It was all right to love her as long as he was smart about it.  He could work for her happiness as long as he didn’t lose sight of his own best interest.  

He wouldn’t make the same mistakes he made with Milah and Bae.  He wouldn’t give her _carte blanche_ to be unfaithful or allow her to go gallivanting across the country without him.  Belle could have whatever she wanted so long as it didn’t conflict with what _he_ wanted.  

As he left the bedroom to find Moe, Gold realized vaguely that he was already breaking his own rule.  He didn’t really _want_ to spend the next few days as Moe’s caretaker, but that didn’t count.  Belle’s happiness outweighed the minor inconvenience of chasing around his father-in-law.  It wasn’t as though he was doing himself any harm by caring for Moe, and perhaps this experiment might teach them to understand each other better.  Belle would like that.

Gold nodded briskly, satisfied with his decision.  He could love Belle and try to make her happy without putting himself at risk.  He just had to be careful as to how he went about it.

As long as he was careful, everything would be fine.


	25. Chapter 25

Gold pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and took a deep breath.  He held it for five seconds, then slowly released the breath and took another, repeating the process until he felt less like pounding his head repeatedly against the kitchen table.

After what felt like several hours, the housekeeper finally emerged from the half-bath off the kitchen, deathly pale and swaying on her feet.  Gold stood to deposit her purse in her hands.  “Go home and get some rest.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.”  To the woman’s credit, she sounded like she meant it.

“It’s hardly your fault.  I’ll see you in a few days when you’ve recovered.”  He walked her to the door and waited to make sure she made it to her car without collapsing in the driveway, then turned his attention to Moe, who was sitting at the kitchen table.  It was just the two of them now.

To his own surprise, his first day as Moe’s minder had gone quite well.  He couldn’t manage Belle’s father using subliminal messages or psychic connections or whatever magic Dove used, but he’d discovered that the older man responded exceptionally well to bribery.  Promising him extra time in the workshop nearly always succeeded, and where that failed, the promise of baked goods picked up the slack.

The second day was a bit more rocky, but they’d made it through.  The housekeeper had graciously taken Moe off of Gold’s hands for a block of time in the afternoon so he could sit with Belle, and between the assistance of Mrs. Potts and near-continuous repetitions of Elvis records, Gold was willing to consider the day a success.

Now that the housekeeper had succumbed to the same bug that plagued Belle and Dove, he’d lost his final ally.  Until this illness ran its course, he and Belle’s father were on their own, and the thought made his head throb.  It had been not quite forty-eight hours since Dove took to his bed, and Gold felt like he’d run back-to-back marathons.  If he was this exhausted after two days, he couldn’t imagine how Belle had spent years not only caring for her father but also working a job.  Clearly, his wife was made of sterner stuff than her husband was.

“We’re on our own for lunch,” he informed Moe, who was still looking at the door the housekeeper had just exited through.

The older man shook his head, an expression of sympathy on his face.  “These things always run through the whole family, don’t they?”

Moe’s words brought Gold up short.  “Family” was a word he’d been careful not to think much about since he lost Bae.  He’d certainly never applied it to his current living situation.  Belle was his wife, his partner in life, but the other people who shared their roof were just other people who happened to live in the same house.

Except they weren’t.  Not really.  Moe was an unconventional father-in-law, but Gold did care about the other man’s well-being.  It was impossible not to like Belle’s father, even if he was occasionally tempted to strangle him.  Moe was difficult, but he didn’t mean to be any more than Bae had deliberately kept him up nights as an infant.  Whatever his faults, the older man clearly adored his daughter, and Gold could appreciate anyone who had the good sense to love Belle.

Nor was Dove simply an employee, he realized.  Gold supposed that it was impossible to take meals with someone every day and not make some kind of a connection.  He might pay the big man, but he felt responsible for him too.  Otherwise, he would have allowed Dove to work himself to the bone taking care of Moe while he was ill.  Once upon a time, he would have done just that, but the Diarmid Gold he was today, the one who was Belle’s husband, was softer than the man who’d spent twenty-five years being ruthless and cold.

Gold wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.  By his own standards, Belle was making him weaker, blunting his killer instincts, but it didn’t feel like weakness.

It felt like strength.

“I’m hungry,” Moe complained, snapping Gold out of his contemplation.

“We’ll have soup,” he decided.  It had been years since he’d had to cook for himself, but he was sure he could remember the basics.  Belle should be waking for another dose of medicine before too long, and soup would be easy for her to eat.  

He drummed his fingers on the countertop as he tried to figure out what would taste good to a woman who’d been living on ginger ale for two days and grunted when Moe plowed into him.  Gold staggered from the impact, but Belle’s father paid him no mind as he started opening cabinets at random.  

“Moe?  What are you doing?”

Moe looked at him like he’d asked an exceptionally stupid question.  “Making soup.”

Gold bit back his instinctive urge to bark at Belle’s father to go sit down.  Moe liked having something to do with his hands.  Perhaps Gold could involve him in the cooking process by finding a job for him to do, preferably one that didn’t involve knives.  Belle had once expressed the fear that her father would burn their apartment down while she was at work by trying to cook, but Gold wasn’t planning to leave him unattended.  How much trouble could he really get into under direct supervision?

“Noodle soup should be easy on Belle’s stomach,” he decided aloud.

Moe elbowed him out of the way.  “Belle wants apple soup.”

“Apple soup?” Gold repeated, hoping he’d heard the other man wrong.

Moe’s nod destroyed that illusion.  “Apple soup.”

“There’s no such thing as apple soup,” he snapped before he could think better of the challenge.  

Moe rolled his eyes.  “Don’t you know anything?”

“I know there’s no such thing as apple soup,” Gold muttered, realizing that he was acting like a child.  

Breathing in deeply through his nose, he took a step back.  He knew Moe well enough to know that the man was like a dog with a bone when he got an idea in his head.  Right now, he was focused on apple soup and trying to dissuade him would only lead to disaster.  What harm could it do to let him cook?  If what he produced was truly revolting, Gold would simply toss it when he wasn’t looking.

He winced when Moe selected an apple from the basket on the counter and picked up a knife.  On second thought, letting Moe do this could lead to a great deal of harm.  He didn’t care to imagine Belle’s reaction if he let her father cut his finger off.

Before Gold could stop him, Moe pressed the knife against the apple and started to turn it, taking a long strip of peel off the apple in a graceful curl.  Humming under his breath, he kept turning the apple, the peel spilling down into a long spiral.  

In a matter of moments, the apple was peeled, and Moe let the peel drop to the floor carelessly before reaching for another, leaving Gold gaping.  Perhaps the man knew what he was doing after all.  Tomatoes were a fruit, and tomato soup existed.  By that logic, there was no reason that apple soup couldn’t be a real thing as well.  Maybe it was an Australian specialty.

“Is this something you’ve made before?” he asked quietly, trying not to distract the other man while he was holding a knife.

“Belle likes apple soup when she’s sick,” Moe answered.

That was something she’d never shared with him, and Gold felt a stab of pain at the thought.  It was ridiculous.  Of course Moe knew Belle better than he did.  The other man was her _father_ , and they’d been married for less than two months.  They hadn’t yet had time to learn each other inside and out, but it still hurt that someone else knew more about his wife than he did.  “Tell me about Belle.”

“She’s a good girl,” Moe answered instantly.  “Very smart.  Loves books.”

Gold already knew all of that.  “What was she like in school?  Has she always been so brave?  What was her favorite toy when she was a little girl?  Did she have pets?”

He cut himself off when he realized Moe’s eyes were glazing over.  He’d overwhelmed the other man with his questions, and Gold cursed himself.  “I’m sorry.  Just… tell me something about her.  Something she likes.”

“She likes horses.”  Moe smiled as though he was reliving a pleasant memory, but he didn’t share it with Gold.

A dark little voice whispered to him, and Gold’s stomach roiled even as he gave voice to the question it prodded him to ask.  “Does she know anyone who lives in Maine?”

Once, Belle’s father had mentioned Belle having a fondness for a boy from Maine, and that offhand remark had tortured him ever since.  Now, he had to know.  

Moe nodded slowly.  “In Maine… yes.  There’s a boy.  Belle likes a boy who lives in Maine.”

“ _What_ boy?” he demanded, his voice sharp.  Moe could have been mistaken once, but not twice.  His wife was in love with a boy from Maine.

Moe shrugged off his question, either unable or unwilling to tell him more, and Gold sagged against the island, his stomach churning.  It didn’t matter, he tried to convince himself.  Belle had promised to be faithful, and she wasn’t a liar.  She was _his_ wife, and she always would be.  She didn’t love him, but they were tied together with bonds more secure than love could ever be.  

Gold’s head pounded as he watched Moe peel several more apples before chopping them roughly and dumping them into a pan.  He should probably be paying closer attention to this process.  If Belle liked apple soup when she was sick, he should know how to prepare it for her.  However, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus.  It was no matter.  Moe seemed to know what he was doing.

He snapped out of his fugue when Moe went for the blender.  “Why don’t I help you with that?”

To his relief, Moe accepted his assistance, and between the two of them, they pureed the hot liquid without creating a liquid volcano.  Once finished, the soup was less than beautiful.  It looked like little more than khaki-colored paste, but he had to admit that the kitchen smelled wonderful.  The aroma of cinnamon, clove, and baked apples hung heavy in the air, and Gold’s stomach growled, then flopped alarmingly.

Oh hell.

He wasn’t getting sick, he told himself firmly as he helped Moe divide the soup into four bowls.  He didn’t have _time_ to be sick.  With him indisposed, Moe would wander off or burn the house down or burn the house down and then wander off.  

“Apple soup!”

The flare of nausea receded at the sound of Belle’s voice.  Gold glanced up to see his wife step into the kitchen, clad in fresh pajamas with her hair dripping around her face.  She still looked pale, but she was smiling, and she’d clearly made a significant improvement if she felt well enough to take a shower.  

She gave him a puzzled look when he moved close enough to gently prod her upper arm.  “You’re real,” he said in mock surprise, as though he’d expected to be a mirage.  “You’re alive.”

Belle giggled at his teasing, and her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  “I’m alive, and I’m tempted to try eating something.  Is one of those bowls for me?  And where’s Dove?”

“You gave him your stomach bug.  Or he gave it to you.”

Belle winced.  “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Moe held his arm out to her, tucking her against his side when Belle moved to join him.  “I made you soup,” he said, pride ringing in his voice.

Belle’s eyes went glassy.  “Yes, you did.  Thanks, Dad.”

Gold busied himself with the soup as Belle chatted with her father, trying not to feel shut out.  He’d run himself ragged taking care of Moe, and she’d forgotten that he existed.

He was being unfair, he admitted to himself as he finished placing the third bowl on the table, and got out a tray for the fourth.  What Moe had done this afternoon was huge.  Not only had he remembered that Belle liked apple soup, he’d remembered how to make it, and executed the dish largely by himself.  Three months ago, he’d been so obsessed with his project that he didn’t even seem to register his daughter’s existence most of the time, and now he was able to cook her a favorite childhood dish.  He’d made tremendous progress, and it was right for Belle to be happy about that.

Warm arms wrapped around him from behind, and Gold started when Belle rested her face against his back.  “You took care of him.  Thank you.”

Those seven words instantly smoothed his ruffled feathers.  Resting his hand on top of hers, he murmured, “You’re welcome.”

Belle gave him a gentle squeeze, then broke away when Moe made a gurgling sound.  “Dad?”

Gold had seen enough over the last few days to instantly recognize the symptoms.  He got there first, shoving the rubbish bin under Moe’s chin just in the nick of time.  “Lovely.”

“Oh, Dad!”  Belle looked utterly distraught as she rubbed her father’s back.

The moment he was done, she looped her arm through his to lead him out of the kitchen.  “You need to be in bed.”

“Give him two of your pills.  I’ll call Whale,” Gold promised, his stomach churning at the smell of vomit as he hastily tied off the trash bag and put it in the driveway.  At this rate, he should buy stock in that pharmaceutical company.

He’d no more than hung up from talking to Whale when his own system rebelled.  Mercifully, he made it to the half-bath before he was losing the contents of his stomach, his eyes and throat burning.  Wonderful.  Just bloody wonderful.

At least Belle was on her feet now, although his wife looked like she could still use a few more days of rest.  Of course, if the other three members of the household were all comatose in various rooms, she wouldn’t have to do much care taking.

Gold spit out a mouthful of bile and dragged himself back to his feet, his head swimming.  He made it as far as the living room before deciding that his bedroom was simply too far away.  With a groan, he collapsed on the sofa and curled into a miserable ball, aware that upstairs Belle was doting over her father in his illness while she ignored her suffering husband.  This time he allowed himself to feel the resentment.  Belle was _his_ wife.  She should be at _his_ side.

Suddenly, she was.  “Come _on_ , Diarmid,” she was saying as she tugged on his arm, and Gold wondered how long she’d been talking to him.  From the note of frustration in her voice, it had been some time.

“Hmf?”

He managed to pry his eyelids open to see blue eyes gazing back, concern in their depths.  “Come on.  I know you’re miserable, but you have to work with me.  I can’t carry you.  Come on, get up.  You’ll feel better once you’re in bed.”

His body didn’t seem to want to cooperate, but Belle guided his movements, until they managed to get him off the couch.  Once he was upright, things seemed a little easier.  He was able to put one foot in front of the other until they reached the stairs, and once they got there, Belle tucked herself under his arm, refusing to let him stop.

“You’ve got this.  Come on.  We’re almost there.”

That was a bold-faced lie, and he wanted to call her on it, but by the time he assembled his scrambled thoughts into words, they were nearly to the top of the stairs, which meant that she wasn’t lying any longer.  Confusion made his head throb.

“Good job!” Belle praised as they staggered together into their bedroom.  Her hands made quick work of his clothes, then he was falling—falling—falling until the bed caught him in its embrace.

“Swallow,” she instructed as she pressed two pills into his hand.

It took him a moment to coordinate the movement, but he managed the trick, and Belle pressed a kiss to his cheek in reward.  “Well done.”

She wrapped the blankets around him in a cozy cocoon and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “Don’t fight it,” she encouraged.  “Sleep is the best thing for you.”

He expected her to return to her father after that, her duty to him done, but instead Belle crawled into bed and leaned against the headboard before guiding his head to rest in her lap.  “I know you feel awful,” she said sympathetically as she stroked his hair.  “Just close your eyes and rest.  Want me to read to you?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, the feel of her hand in his hair making the gut-wrenching nausea somehow bearable.

Tears pricked at his eyes as she picked up her tablet and started to read aloud, something about a hunter and a fairy lord in a mask.  The story didn’t matter.  What mattered was that Belle was here, soothing and comforting him in his time of need.  She’d chosen to stay with _him_ , not her father, and even if she only stayed long enough to read him to sleep, that would be enough.  When he needed her, she was there.  

He’d never loved her more.

He had just enough sense left to remember that he couldn’t say the words aloud.  As Belle read to him, her fingers carding tenderly through his hair, Gold nestled closer to her and swallowed the words of love as he allowed sleep to claim him.  


	26. Chapter 26

His mouth tasted like death.

Gold groaned and rolled onto his back, struggling to open eyes that felt as though they’d been glued shut.  With tremendous effort, he forced open first one and then the other, the sunlight filtering into the bedroom making them water.

He blinked rapidly, taking stock of his body.  He felt hollowed-out, his skin clammy and eyes gritty, but he also didn’t feel the need to vomit up his toenails, so he was willing to consider his present state a vast improvement over the past few days.

As a general rule, Belle was beside him when he woke, his wife helping him to sit up before plying him with as much soup and ginger ale as she could get down him before the pills dragged him back into blessed unconsciousness.  Puzzled by her absence, Gold turned his head to examine the room, only to see Belle sitting up in bed beside him, her attention glued to her tablet.  Her lips were slightly parted with her rapid breath, her eyes wide and glittering with excitement, and the sight made him smile.  She was clearly riveted by whatever she was reading, and her enthusiasm for her book was charming.

“What are you reading?”

“Diarmid!”  

She jumped a full six inches at the sound of his voice, her tablet falling out of her hand to land in her lap.  Before he could steal a glance at her screen, she flipped the cover closed in a deceptively casual movement that immediately raised his suspicions.  If Belle didn’t want him to see what she was reading, it had to be scandalous indeed.

“You’re awake!  How are you feeling?”  

Her voice was a tiny bit too loud, and Gold took a moment to plot how he could sneak a peek at her tablet before answering.  If he’d interrupted her in the midst of a trashy romance novel, it would be too much fun to tease her to let the opportunity slip away.  “Like I’ve been hit by several trucks and possibly a car or two.”

Belle leaned down to press a sympathetic kiss to his forehead before she reached for the omnipresent glass of ginger ale and held it so he could sip through the straw.  “Do you need more pills?  Or have you rejoined the land of the living?”

“I think I’m ready to give consciousness a chance.”

“ _Good_.  I was starting to miss my husband.”  She smiled at him, her eyes shining.  “You’re the last one to recover.  Dad got up yesterday.”

The reminder of Moe’s illness distracted him from his curiosity about Belle’s book.  He’d almost forgotten that Moe had taken ill right before he did himself because every time he’d awakened, Belle had been at his side.  She’d chosen to stay with him, not with her father, he realized, and for an embarrassing moment, Gold was afraid he was going to cry.  “You stayed with me.”

“Of course I did.  You’re my husband.”  Belle slipped her hand under the blankets to find his and squeeze gently.  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“How long have I been out of commission?”  He had no idea how to express how grateful he was to her for her faithful vigil, so he said nothing at all.

“Four days.”  Whatever she saw in his face made Belle chuckle.  “Yeah, I know.  I was starting to wonder if you’d gone into early winter hibernation.  That how it always is, isn’t it?  The last person to get sick always gets hit worst because you’re worn out from taking care of everyone else.”

Four days.  Belle sat with him for _four days_ , and his heart ached with love for her.  To cover the surge of emotion, he glanced down at himself critically.  “No wonder I reek.”

She snickered.  “You’re a bit ripe.  Why don’t I go get you some soup, and after you eat, we can try a shower?  You’ll feel better for it.”

She didn’t have to persuade him.  “Yes, please.”

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, pausing only long enough to stash her tablet in her nightstand drawer before heading for the kitchen.

Feeling only slightly guilty, Gold scooted over to Belle’s side of the bed the moment she left the room and opened her nightstand drawer, then stole a glance at the door to make sure he wouldn’t be caught when he flipped the cover of her tablet open.

He’d hoped to catch her reading something deliciously smutty and ridiculous that he could tease her about—that book with the tie on the cover, perhaps?— but his wife was too good at covering her tracks.  She’d clearly had the sense to switch to another application without him noticing because when he looked at the tablet, Facebook greeted him.

For a moment, he was tempted to do a little more digging, but he quickly dismissed the idea.  Sneaking a peek at her screen was one thing, but prowling through her tablet felt far too much like spying on her for comfort.  Resigning himself to disappointment, Gold flipped the cover closed again and shut the drawer.  He would have other opportunities to discover just what she was reading that made her cheeks flush that enchanting shade of pink.  All he had to do was wait until she again lost herself in the book to steal a glance over her shoulder.

Without the mystery of Belle’s book to distract him, Gold became aware that nature was calling.  He crawled out of bed, pleased when he stayed on his feet despite a brief moment of lightheadedness, and made his way to the bathroom.

Once he’d taken care of his business, a glance in the mirror told him that the soup could wait.  He looked utterly disgusting, and after four days in bed, he didn’t smell much better.  He wasn’t a vain man, but the idea of revolting his wife didn’t sit well with him.  

A very hot shower and a shave made him feel somewhat human again, and once he’d brushed his teeth, Gold would go so far as to say he felt almost presentable.  He hadn’t thought to bring an extra set of pajamas or a dressing gown into the bathroom with him, and he felt a brief flicker of self-consciousness as he stepped back into the bedroom, wondering how Belle would react to the unexpected sight of so much of his bare skin.

He needn’t have worried.  

Belle had clearly not been idle while he was in the shower.  The sheets had been changed and there was a bowl of soup cooling on his nightstand, but Gold had the feeling that he could could have emerged from the bathroom turning cartwheels without her so much as batting an eye because she didn’t even look up when he stepped into the room.

Once again, Belle was plastered to her tablet, her face flushed and eyes glittering.  This time, however, she wasn’t passively reading but instead typing eagerly on the screen, her fingers flying.  Perhaps he’d been mistaken earlier when he thought she was reading something trashy.  He frowned as he tried to recall just what had been on her screen when he stole his look.  There had been an ultrasound picture and a pair of names.  Nick and Eva?  Something like that.  Perhaps Belle was simply excited because she’d managed to track down some of the friends she’d been hoping to find.

While he was pleased she was reconnecting with her friends, he had to admit that he was a bit disappointed.  Catching her reading a smutty novel would have been much more fun, especially if he could talk her into acting out her favorite parts with him.

He didn’t realize that he was standing naked in front of the closet, staring at her, until Belle glanced up from the screen and wolf-whistled at the sight of him.  “ _Very_ nice.”

“Certainly a marked improvement,” he allowed, turning away to retrieve a fresh set of pajamas before Belle could see his silly smile.  His wife might not love him, but she _was_ attracted to him, and he hadn’t let her down yet.  Belle didn’t need trashy romance novels when she had him.

By the time he’d finished dressing, Belle had put her tablet aside, and she snuggled into his side when he joined her on the bed.  Gold dropped a kiss on the top of her head before reaching for the bowl of soup.  “Apple soup.”

“It’s a French family tradition,” Belle explained.  “I think my father’s grandmother came up with it.  You can eat it hot or cold.”

Right now, the temperature was somewhere in the middle of the two.  One extreme or the other would probably be better, but after his first spoonful, Gold had to admit that the French family knew their stuff.  The soup was not unlike a liquified apple pie, and best of all, his stomach didn’t revolt at the taste of it.  “It’s delicious.”

“I gave the recipe to Mrs. Potts,” Belle explained.  “She came back to work yesterday.”

“And here I was picturing my devoted wife slaving over a hot stove for me,” he teased.

“Your devoted wife has been too busy nursing you back to health to cook,” she reminded him.  “You remember that tomato soup you had two days ago?  It was from a can.”

Gold mimed shock, enjoying the repartee.  “You’re trying to poison me.”

“You know the really shocking part?”  Belle’s eyes sparkled.  “You told me it was _good_.”

“I was clearly out of my head, and it’s unfair of you to take advantage of my delicate condition.  A good wife would pretend she never heard such a thing.”

Belle snickered.  “Don’t even go there.  Are you aware that you talk in your sleep when you’re sick?”

A cold shudder ran down Gold’s spine.  With illness and medication to loosen his tongue there was no telling what he might have said.  All his efforts to keep his mouth closed about his love for her would be to no avail if he blurted it out in his sleep.  “What did I say?”

He couldn’t keep the dread out of his voice, and Belle looked at him closely for a long moment before she gave his leg a reassuring pat.  “Don’t worry, you didn’t spill any deep, dark secrets.  I couldn’t even understand most of what you said.  Your accent gets seriously out of control when you’re sick.”

There was no hint of dishonesty in her eyes, and Gold slowly allowed himself to relax, groping for a way to return to their previously light-hearted conversation.  “Oh good.  As long as I didn’t mention the crazy ex-wife I keep chained up in the attic, all is well.”

Belle chuckled politely at the strained joke and let the conversation lapse until he’d finished his soup.  Then she spoke again.  “Dad will be pleased that you’re awake.  He wants his Battleship partner back.”

He glanced down at her, waiting for the punchline, but Belle was apparently completely serious.  “He said that?”

“He’s been asking for you.  He thinks you’re a very nice boy.”  Belle patted his knee.

It had been a good four decades since anyone had been able to refer to him as a “boy,” and Gold snorted at the description.  Even as he did, he couldn’t help but feel a bit flattered that Moe had taken a liking to him.  The man was his father-in-law, after all.  They might never have deep philosophical discussions, but it was right that they could enjoy each other’s company.  

Battleship wasn’t exactly chess, but he wouldn’t mind playing the occasional game if it would make Belle happy.  A tiny corner of his soul acknowledged that it might just make him happy too.  When he proposed to Belle, all he’d wanted was a wife.  Instead, he’d found a family, unconventional as it was.

“It means a lot to me… that you took care of him.”  Belle looked up at him through her eyelashes.  

Her gratitude made his throat feel tight.  “It was nothing.”

“Stop it.”

He blinked at her rebuke.  “Stop what?”

“Brushing me off when I try to say nice things to you.  Dad can be a massive pain in the ass to manage.  No one knows that better than me.  You didn’t have to take care of him.  You could have called the agency and gotten someone to fill in.  But you did it yourself, and that _matters_.”  He could hear the passion in her words.  

“I thought you’d prefer it that way.  I didn’t think you’d like having a stranger caring for him.”  He closed his mouth quickly, afraid that if he said any more, it would be too much.

“You know me well,” Belle agreed.  

“Yes, well… I try to be a good husband to you.”  Belle had turned her life inside out to become his wife.  The least he could do was try to make it worth her while.

“Diarmid…”  He held his breath as Belle moved to straddle his lap, her hands coming to rest on either side of his face.  Despite their intimate position, the moment didn’t feel sexual, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands.  After a moment of dithering, he brought them to her waist as she settled herself more comfortably.

Belle held his gaze, her expression serious.  “You’re a good husband.  You’re a good _person_ too.  I don’t think you hear that often enough.

Gold looked away automatically, unable to maintain eye contact.  His wife was giving him far too much credit, and the distance between the man she thought he was and the reality of him was immeasurable.

Tightening her grip on his face, Belle forced him to look at her.  “You’re a _good_ person.  I get why you don’t believe me, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.  You’re kind and patient and generous, and I’m lucky that you’re my husband.”

More than anything, he wanted to play off her words with a joke or change the subject, but with Belle staring into his eyes and saying beautiful things to him, he could scarcely remember how to talk.  When he tried, all that emerged from his mouth was a strangled sob, and he pressed his lips together hard in a belated attempt to muffle the humiliating noise.

Instantly, Belle’s arms went around him as she guided his face to the curve of her neck.  “I’ve got you, Diarmid.”

Gold’s eyes burned as he buried his face against her throat, dragging in breath after breath of her sweet scent.  Belle valued him—the first person in his life ever to do so—and for the first time, it truly didn’t matter that she didn’t love him.  She cared, cared in a way no one else ever had, and that was more than enough for him.

“I’ve got you… I’ve got you…” she crooned as she stroked the back of his neck.  When she shifted on his lap to press them closer together, Gold abruptly realized that he was hard as a rock, the overwhelming emotions making themselves known physically.

He clutched her closer when she tried to ease him away, and Belle pressed a soothing kiss to his cheek.  “Lie back.  I’m going to take care of you.”

“You… you don’t…” he rasped, and Belle shook her head.

“Hush.  Just let me make you feel good.  You deserve to feel good.”

She waited, watching him expectantly until he nodded, a small, convulsive movement.  Only then did she slip down his body to push up his pajama top, baring his stomach.  Smiling tenderly, Belle rubbed her face against him, nuzzling like a cat.  

Her artless display of affection shook him to the core.  Gold buried a shaking hand in her hair, needing to ground himself in her reality.  This wasn’t a dream or a fantasy.  His wife was pleasuring him simply because she wanted to make him feel good.  Over the course of his life, he’d gone to bed with any number of women, but not a single one of them had ever offered him something like this— pleasure for its own sake.  Pleasure just because he was Diarmid Gold, who deserved to feel pleasure.

Belle pressed gentle kisses to his quivering belly until he stopped shaking.  “That’s it,” she murmured.  “Just enjoy it.”

When she tugged down his pajama pants, he lifted his hips to cooperate, his cock springing free of its confines, embarrassingly hard considering how little they’d done.  Belle smiled at the sight of him and traced one finger up his straining length.  “Hello there!” she greeted his cock, a giggle in her voice.  

Belle looked up at him, her eyes dancing.  “I’ve missed him,” she said in a confidential voice.

Gold shifted his hips, not sure whether to laugh or to groan.  “He’s been neglecting you.  Give him a chance to redeem himself,” he requested.  Between their respective battles with the stomach flu, they hadn’t been intimate in over a week, an unbearably long time for the newlyweds they still were.

“Tomorrow,” Belle promised.  “Right now, I want to get reacquainted.”

That was the only warning he had before her plush lips closed over the head of his cock, and Gold’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest.  He groaned loudly, belatedly pressing his lips together when he remembered they weren’t alone in the house.

“ _Very_ nice,” Belle purred, easing off to rub her face against the root of him, breathing him in like she was starving for the scent of him.  Gold’s mouth fell open on a harsh exhale, his gaze riveted to the picture she made.  Belle wasn’t just pleasuring him—she was _exalting_ in him.

“You smell so good,” she whispered as she buried her nose in his coarse nest of curls.  Her fingers carded through them, tugging lightly, and Gold’s eyes rolled back in his head as his hips rolled helplessly.

“God, you’re dripping.  That’s _so_ hot.”  

Gold tipped his head forward, watching in disbelief as Belle used her finger to swipe up the drop of fluid beading on his tip.  With a seductive smile, she slipped it past her lips, hollowing her cheeks as she made a delighted noise, and he had to sink his teeth into his tongue to keep from howling at the sight.

“Look at you.  You’re so ready.”  He ground his teeth as she cupped his balls, pressing them tightly against the base of his cock.  “You’re about to lose it, aren’t you?  I won’t tease you any more.”

True to her word, Belle slid her mouth over him, taking him deep, and he had to close his eyes, unable to bear the glorious sight of his cock disappearing into her mouth.  Everything was wet heat and maddening friction, her tongue lashing against the underside until it was all he could do not to lose his mind.

Gold gave himself over to her blissful torture, struggling to breathe and relax into it, anything to prolong the sensations for another handful of seconds.  He writhed as she let her teeth scrape lightly over him, the slight edge of pain only intensifying the pleasure.

She fondled his balls as she took him a little deeper, and his eyes opened at the shock of sensation, his mind shorting out at the sight of her flushed face and swollen lips as she bobbed her head on him.

“I’m coming,” he grunted, his voice feral.  “Belle, I’m coming.  I’m coming!”

Despite his warning, she stayed with him, her ministrations only growing more enthusiastic.  Gold groaned as he spilled himself, and the warm suction as she drank him down nearly made him black out, the pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain.

She didn’t release him until he’d stopped twitched, lapping gently at him as he panted and moaned, his chest heaving for breath.  His eyes fell closed, the effort to keep them open requiring more strength than he had left.  

“There you go.  Isn’t that better?”  Belle crooned, her voice hoarse and fond as she moved to sit next to him and guide his head into her lap.

“Sweetheart…” he moaned, his tongue sluggish and his accent thick.  “Belle…”

She stroked his hair.  “Rest now, Diarmid.  Just rest.”

Helpless to do anything else, Gold obeyed, his body boneless with contentment and his spirit light as he slipped into a dreamless sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

“F-7”

Moe glared at Gold from across the table.  “You’re cheating.”

“I take it that’s a hit then?”  Gold bit his tongue to keep from smiling as he placed a red peg on his game board to indicate that he’d made contact with his father-in-law’s final ship.  For the past month, he’d been playing Battleship with Moe twice a week, and he’d yet to win a single game.  Today, his luck was changing.

“I’m home!” 

At Belle’s cheery greeting, both Gold and Moe looked up from their game, and Moe’s face lost its look of consternation.  “Hi, pumpkin.”

“Hi, Dad.”  Gold watched as Belle went to her father to hug him from behind and place a kiss on the top of his head.  

Next, she came around the table to kiss him hello, the caress lasting long enough to soothe Gold’s brief flicker of petty irritation that she hadn’t embraced him first.  “Hey, you.”

The affection in her tone made the words sound better than any endearment.  “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

She brushed another kiss against his lips, then claimed the seat beside him, giving his game board a curious look as she did.  “So, who’s winning?”

“I am,” Moe insisted, all evidence to the contrary.

“How was your shopping trip?” Gold inquired.  There was another dinner party coming up, this one hosted by Henry and Cora Mills, and Belle had announced that she needed a new dress for the occasion.  

Belle sighed, her expression darkening.  “I struck out.”

“Again?”  He frowned.  Today was the second time she’d gone dress shopping only to have no luck, and with the party on Friday, she was running out of time.  

“Should we take a road trip to Boston?” he suggested.  After what happened last time, it wouldn’t do for Belle to walk into the Mills house feeling less than impeccably attired.  If Storybrooke couldn’t meet her needs, they would just have to broaden their horizons.

“It depends… Think we can find a store that specializes in formal chainmail?”  She gave him an impish look.  

These dinner parties were closer to battlegrounds than to social occasions, something his wife had learned all too well.  “I think that might necessitate a trip to New York.”  He was only half-joking.  If Gold had learned anything from his decade in the city, it was that in New York, one could buy _anything_.

Belle chuckled and kissed his cheek.  “Don’t worry about it.  Ariel has a new shipment coming in tomorrow.  I’m sure I’ll find something I like.”

“If you say so.”  He was a bit disappointed by her refusal.  Although he enjoyed clothing and antiques, shopping had never been one of his favorite pastimes.  However, Gold thought that he’d quite enjoy watching his wife put on a fashion show, and if it gave them an excuse to get away for a day, just the two of them, that would be better yet.  He didn’t resent Moe and Dove’s presence in the house, but having his father-in-law constantly underfoot did put a damper on certain things.

“B-1”

Gold sighed.  “Hit.  F-6”

“Miss.”  Moe looked smugly pleased with himself.  “B-2”

“Hit.”

Gold allowed his attention to wander from his sinking carrier as Belle congratulated her father on his success, and allowed his mind to drift to more pleasant matters.  He had another business trip coming up in the next few weeks, his first since their marriage.  This time, instead of spending his evenings drinking in a run-down bar just to spend time with Belle, she would be waiting for him in his hotel room at the end of the day.  He could pack a bottle of decent Scotch as a nod to their history, and they could spend the night licking it off each other’s skin, a prized fantasy of his from when Belle was nothing more than his favorite bartender.

That was assuming he could convince her to come with him.

Gold frowned at his game board.  “F-8”

Moe grinned.  “Miss.  B-3”

“Hit.”

Spending the day out shopping or at the cabin with him was one thing, but Belle might blanch at leaving her father overnight, and Gold didn’t think he could bring himself to demand that she accompany him to Boston.  He wanted her to _want_ to go with him—to be so distressed at the idea of spending a single night apart that she suggested she come with him to keep him company.

It wouldn’t be much of a honeymoon, but at least it would be a start.  Belle had lived in Boston for years.  Perhaps she could introduce him to some of her favorite things about the city or show him some of her old haunts from her college days.  Gold was hungry to know everything about the woman he’d married, and seeing the city through her eyes could only help his cause.

He still had weeks to go before the proposed trip, which meant he had plenty of time to broach the subject.  For now, he had a game of Battleship to win.  “E-7”

“Miss.”  

There was only one other possible shot he could take, meaning that Moe’s winning streak was one turn away from coming to an end.  Far from looking disconsolate about it, the other man was practically bouncing in his seat.

“B-4”

“Before what?” Belle teased her father, and Moe chuckled at her joke as Gold placed the fourth red peg in his carrier.  It would be close, but all he had to do was score a second shot on Moe’s destroyer, and he would win the game.  

“G-7”

“Miss!”  Moe practically shouted.  “B-5!”

“Wait.”  Gold looked down at his game board where a single red peg was surrounded by a circle of white ones.  “That’s not right.  If F-7 was a hit, one of those last four coordinates _has_ to be a hit.”

Moe folded his hands primly.  “Who said F-7 was a hit?”

“ _You_ did,” Gold reminded him.

“Did I?”  Moe was all innocence.

Gold thought back over the last few minutes and groaned.  Moe had never actually said the word “hit”.  He’d simply accused Gold of cheating and not denied it when Gold took his complaint as proof that he’d scored a hit.  

“You son of a bitch,” he said mildly, not sure whether to be annoyed that Moe had played him so neatly or proud of Belle’s father for pulling off the con.

“Diarmid!” Belle scolded, but she was drowned out by Moe’s laughter.

“B-5”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Gold folded his game board closed.  “Hit.  Next time, we’re playing chess.  You can handle it.”

Moe’s eyes twinkled at him as he nodded in approval.  “You’re a good boy.”

“Thank you,” Gold said in a dry voice, unable to completely suppress his smile.  It was pathetic, really.  He’d spent years telling himself that he didn’t need the approval of a father figure, but now that he had it, he had to admit that it felt good.

Belle kissed her father’s forehead and followed Gold out of the room when Dove came to convince Moe to take his afternoon nap.  Gold braced himself for his wife’s censure.  He’d truly meant nothing by it when he called her father a son of a bitch, but he couldn’t exactly blame her for being upset about it even if Moe had taken his words in the intended spirit.

Instead of raging at him, Belle’s shoulders slumped the moment they were out of Moe’s room, and she reached blindly for him, sighing when he wrapped his arms around her.  

Gold held her close, trying to make sense of her sudden change of demeanor.  “Sweetheart?  What’s wrong?”

“I’m just _frustrated_ ,” she explained, her voice muffled against his chest.  

That shed little light on the matter.  “I thought your father was showing marked improvement.”

She looked up at him in surprise.  “No, not Dad.  Dad’s great, and I’m glad you two are getting along so well.  You’re so good with him, Diarmid.  He really likes you.”

Apparently she wasn’t planning to shout at him for cursing at her father.  That just left him more perplexed.  “Then I don’t understand.  What are you frustrated about?”

Belle’s expression flickered before she glanced down, distracting herself with straightening his tie.  “Today I really thought I found the right… dress.  You know how hard I’ve been looking.  But it was all wrong, and now I’m afraid I won’t be able to find the right one.”

Gold chuckled before he could stop himself, relieved that her problem was so minor.  There was something endearing in Belle’s determination to look just right for this dinner party, and even though he knew she must be fretting about seeing Cora again more than she’d let on, it pleased him to know that she’d gone from having to worry about keeping a roof over her father’s head to having nothing more serious to worry about than a dress.  He’d promised her a life of ease when he proposed, and he was keeping his end of the bargain.

Even if her worry was trivial, it mattered to _her_ , and he pressed a kiss of apology to her hair for laughing.  “You’ll look beautiful in whatever you choose, sweetheart.  If you truly can’t find something you like, you could always wear the dress you wore last time.”

Belle jerked her head up to look at him in such patent disbelief that Gold realized he must have unwittingly said something exceptionally stupid.  “You can’t be serious.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist to lead her away from Moe’s room.  If they were going to argue, it was best that they do it out of her father’s earshot.  “I was, but apparently I shouldn’t have been.”

“I can’t wear the same dress.”  At his baffled look, Belle took pity on him.  “Have you ever seen Cora repeat a dress?  Regina?”

He thought about it.  “I don’t know.  All of their clothes tend to look the same to me.  I don’t exactly study them.”  Considering the Mills women’s fondness for dark colors and low necklines, their outfits tended to blur together in his mind.

Belle smiled like he’d paid her a compliment and leaned up to brush a kiss against his lips.  “I know you said it’s over, but I still like hearing that you’re not looking.”

“At Cora?  Hardly.”  Gold lowered his head to claim a deeper kiss.  Even before he’d realized he was in love with his wife, Cora had held no fascination for him.  Now, with Belle in his arms, he’d rather caress a snake than his former lover.

Belle caught his hand and led him to their bedroom.  To Gold’s disappointment, she bypassed the bed in favor of throwing open the door to their shared closet.  The sight of her dresses hanging next to his suits was curiously intimate, and the sight pleased him.

“You could wear the same three suits for the rest of your life and no one would bat an eye,” Belle explained as she waved her hand at his side of the closet.  “For women, it’s different.  We have more options, and that means there’s more to get wrong.  I have to wear something expensive, but not ostentatious.  Something stylish, but not trendy.  If I wear the same dress to two events in a row, that says something, and it’s not good.”

“You think Cora is judging you,” he suggested.

Belle gave him a sideways look.  “I _know_ she’s judging me.  They all are.  Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

“Of course not.”  When he thought about it, it made sense.  He would no more dream of wearing an off-the-rack suit to one of these dinners than he would dream of showing up naked.  Belle’s concerns were just an amplification of that.  Apparently, it was far more complicated to be a woman than a man, and for the first time, Gold took a moment to be grateful that he’d been born male.

When it came to picking out clothing, he would be less than no help.  As far as Gold was concerned, Belle looked exquisite in everything she wore.  There were nuances here that he wasn’t attuned to, and while in time he might master them, he wouldn’t do it in time to be of assistance when it came to the upcoming dinner party.

If he couldn’t help, he had enough money to hire someone who could.  “What would make this easier for you?” he asked.  “A personal shopper?  A tailor?”  His clothes were hand-made to suit him.  There was no reason that his wife shouldn’t enjoy the same luxury.

Belle’s eyes went shiny.  “I like the way you listen to me.”

If he’d pleased her, he was glad of it, but Gold wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Just now… you didn’t understand the problem, but you took it seriously anyway.  And once you realized what I was talking about, you asked how you could help.  You didn’t just tell me what to do.  You asked me what I needed.”  Belle smiled tremulously.  “You’re a good husband.”

She was giving him a great deal of credit for doing very little, but when he thought about it, Gold could understand why.  Since she’d become her father’s caretaker, no one had paid much attention to Belle’s needs, not even Belle herself.  As her husband, it was his duty to change that.  As the man who loved her, it was his privilege.

“Would you like me to come with you tomorrow?” he offered.  At the very least he could provide moral support and give her a nudge if she was shying away from spending what she considered to be too much money.

“Oh!”  For an instant, Belle’s brow furrowed like she was trying to think of a way to reject his offer, but her face cleared so quickly that Gold realized he must have imagined it.  “I’d like that.  Thank you, Diarmid.”

It was foolish for a man of his age to be so excited about going dress shopping, but the following day as he and Belle approached Ariel’s boutique hand-in-hand, he realized that there was nowhere on Earth he’d rather be.  He was going to spend a frivolous afternoon with his wife, and at this point in his life, that was the pinnacle of existence.  Gold had always been the kind of person to value time with his loved ones over anything else.  It had just been so long since he _had_ any loved ones to spend time with that that aspect of his personality had practically atrophied.

Ariel beamed when they stepped into the boutique.  “Hi, Mr. Gold!  Hey, Belle!  Long ti—“

“Hi, Ariel!” Belle said quickly, getting straight to the point of their visit.  “I’m looking forward to seeing that dress shipment you told me about when I was here yesterday.”

For a second, the flighty redhead looked like she’d forgotten that she was in the business of selling dresses, but she rallied quickly.  “Sure!  Yeah!  There’s a whole new selection since you were here last— _yesterday_.”

Gold chuckled when Ariel winked at Belle.  “I expect you to spend at least four digits,” he told his wife indulgently.  No doubt the shopkeeper saw a sizable commission in her future based on what had happened the last time he assisted his wife in her shopping.

Despite all of Belle’s angst over finding an appropriate dress, it took her less than half an hour to select something for the dinner party.  The dress was short and emerald green with a square-cut bodice that made Gold’s mouth water.  It was nothing at all like anything the other women would wear, and he sensed that was a deliberate choice.  Last time, Belle had dressed to fit in.  Now, she was dressing to stand out.  She’d found her confidence.

“One dress hardly seems worth our while.  Why don’t you see what else catches your eye?” he suggested when Belle showed no signs of continuing their shopping excursion.

“You don’t really want to spend all afternoon watching me try on clothes do you?” Belle asked.

“Why not?”  He had work to do, but he _always_ had work to do.  For too long, he’d lived only to meet the demands of his occupation, and it was high time that changed.  

Belle looked puzzled.  “Isn’t it boring?”

Gold glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Ariel was out of earshot, then looped his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her against his chest.  “How could looking at you ever be boring?”

“ _Oh_ …”  Belle’s lips trembled, and he leaned down to steal a kiss.

When he pulled back, Belle looked adorably flushed.  “Pick something for me to try?” she requested.

“You’re going to regret giving me this kind of power,” he threatened, stepping back to take in the racks of clothing with more interest now that he was imagining how each piece would look on his wife’s delectable body.

“Now, I’m _really_ curious,” she shot back, following him as he prowled the store.  “What does my husband want his wife to wear?”

She’d asked him that question—or one very similar to it—early in their relationship.  In those days, it had been a sign of how poorly they understood each other.  Belle had assumed he wanted her to fit the cookie-cutter mold of a Stepford wife, and she’d been prepared to jettison her own personal style in an effort to please him so he would have no reason to break his promise to marry her and take care of her father.

Now, not quite four months later, the same question carried a very different connotation.  Belle was inviting him to play a game with her.  She wanted him to choose her outfit, not because she was trying to make herself into the picture of his ideal wife, but because she wanted to know what would excite him.

Gold liked this second iteration of the question much better than the first.

Giving the matter his full attention, he slowly made his selections and presented them to his surprised-looking wife, who disappeared into the dressing room with her spoils.  As he waited to see the finished product, he tipped his head back, envisioning how beautiful she would look wearing clothing he’d chosen just for her.

When she emerged a few minutes later, his breath caught in his chest.  He’d chosen very well indeed.

The blue sundress was nothing Belle would have bought for herself, but she looked like a dream come true in it.  It was simple and deceptively modest, the full skirt reaching just past her knees, a hemline longer than she generally preferred.  Although Gold treasured every glimpse he caught of his wife’s legs, the demure length was arousing in its own right.  It harkened back to an earlier day when a hint of ankle was enough to set a man aflame with desire.  By concealing, it made him wild to see what was hidden.

The bodice was corset-inspired, held together by a brown leather lace that was the dress’s only ornamentation.  The gentle cinching did glorious things to Belle’s breasts, and it made his hands itch to slowly unlace her, covering every inch of her porcelain skin with his lips as he did so.

Underneath the dress, she wore thigh-high stockings and frilly sea foam green underthings.  At this very moment, lacy trifles that he’d selected were embracing her body in their silken grasp, and more than anything, Gold wanted to rip them off of her and replace them with his own hands.  Only the sound of Ariel moving around the shop and singing to herself kept him in check.  

Belle smiled like she could read his mind and boldly pressed herself against him.  “I have a better idea than dress shopping.”

“Oh?” he managed, his hands shaking as he brought them to rest on her waist.

“Why don’t we pay Ariel and then go to the cabin?  Do you think you’ll have as much fun undressing me as you did dressing me?”  Her eyes sparkled.

“ _More_ ,” he said emphatically.

As though sensing how on edge he was, Belle kissed his cheek instead of his lips, not risking his self-control.  When she pulled away from him, Gold caught her hand.  “You do like it, don’t you, sweetheart?  I know it’s not what you’d choose for yourself, but…”

“I _love_ it,” she said firmly.  “When we get to the cabin, I’ll show you how much.”

Her promise made him feel light-headed.  “I’ll go get the car.”

Belle’s smile was wicked.  “ _Hurry_.”


	28. Chapter 28

“It’s settled then,” Cora patted her mouth with her napkin and smiled like a cat that had just spotted a juicy canary with a broken wing.  “I can’t _wait_ to see the venue you choose, Belle.”

Gold thought he’d been paying attention to all of the various conversations flowing around the dinner table, but by the time he’d realized that Cora was attempting to railroad Belle into taking over the planning for the fundraising dinner he and his associates sponsored every winter, it was too late.

To her credit, Belle looked supremely confident about her ability to plan a two-thousand-dollar-a-plate dinner.  “I’ve been looking for a project, and this should be delightful.  What could be more satisfying than supporting a good cause?”

Cora looked a bit disappointed that she hadn’t managed to strike fear into the heart of her rival.  “You’ll have to set up a Facebook group so I can see what you’re working on.”

No doubt, Cora’s best-case scenario would be to throw Belle to the wolves, allowing her to plan every aspect of the event so Cora and Regina could sweep in at the last second to take credit for everything that went well and publicly shame Belle for any missteps.  One of her favorite games was to keep piling responsibilities onto an unsuspecting soul until they were drowning, then throw them a metaphorical brick.

If she couldn’t do that, she’d try her other pet tactic of micromanaging Belle into madness.  That approach required a great deal more work, but if it meant getting an opportunity to make Belle miserable, Gold was certain that Cora would consider it an effort worth making.

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary.  Think how much more fun you’ll have on the night if you have the pleasure of being surprised.  At this stage of your life, you deserve to sit back and relax.”  Belle smiled sweetly, pretending that she hadn’t just called attention to the fact that Cora was more than twice her age.

Gold bit his tongue to keep from laughing when Henry Mills beamed at Belle.  “What a kind gesture!  Isn’t she a delight, Cora?”

Cora’s face was frozen in a look of tranquil fury.  “Charming.”

“If you do make a group, count me in,” Jackie requested, catching Gold by surprise.  The younger Nolan’s arm candy was known neither for her charitable spirit nor her willingness to work.  

“I just love looking at your Facebook,” Jackie continued.  “You know _so_ many handsome men.  Where _do_ you find them all?”

Gold took a sip of wine to cover his own consternation.  Belle had been open about her desire to reconnect with her old college friends, and she had his blessing to do so.  Yet somehow he’d been laboring under the delusion that most of her friends were female, and those that were not were weak-chinned and prematurely balding.

Belle spent half of her life glued to her tablet, and if she was spending her time talking with handsome men…  Gold wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  

It eased his nerves that instead of looking furtive, Belle merely looked amused at Jackie’s words.  “Do I?  I can’t say that I’ve noticed.”

“How could you not?”  Jackie demanded.  “That August fellow is _gorgeous_ , and the two of you seem to be _very_ close considering how much time he spends on your page.”

Her tone made it clear that she suspected that Belle and August—whoever the hell he was— were far more than online friends, and Gold was careful to keep his posture loose and relaxed even as his stomach churned.

Belle’s nose crinkled delicately.  “I can’t say that he’s my type, but if he’s yours, I’d be more than happy to arrange an introduction.  I’m sure James wouldn’t mind.”

And with that, the point went to Belle.  Jackie sat back in her seat, her mouth twisting into a petulant frown at having lost the round, and Belle glanced at him, her eyes sparkling with pleasure at her triumph.  Gold raised his glass in a silent toast, pride filling him.  She was doing just fine. 

All in all, the second dinner party was a vast improvement over the first, although he waited until they’d put a good five miles between the Mills home and the Cadillac before he voiced that opinion.

Belle let out a laughing groan as she reached up to free her hair from its neat chignon.  “It’s like eating in a nest of vipers.”

“You did beautifully,” he assured her, stealing a glance out of the corner of his eye to admire her tumbling curls.

“I did okay.  I certainly didn’t do beautifully,” Belle corrected him.  “How am I supposed to plan a fundraiser?  What are we even raising funds _for_?”

“It varies each year.  Cora usually chooses whichever cause is the trend du jour.”  Gold considered that for a moment.  “I suppose that since you’re at the helm this year, you can choose whatever you want.”

Belle went still.  “Maybe a foundation that does research on brain damage?  Or rehabilitates people who’ve had strokes?”

Gold put his hand on her knee.  “I think that’s a marvelous idea.”

“How much money do you usually raise?  Thousands?  Tens of thousands?”  Belle said the words like she couldn’t quite allow herself to imagine that much money going to help people like Moe.

“Add a few zeros.”  Although Gold participated in these events every year, he’d never regarded them as more than a nuisance.  In his experience, these dinners were a dog-and-pony show aimed at giving wealthy people a chance to show off just how wealthy they were.  He’d never given much thought to the cause that benefitted from the show of cash until now.

If they could help people like Moe, if only a little, that would be a very good thing indeed.

“Millions?”  When he nodded, Belle squeaked.  “I’m in _way_ over my head.”

“No, you’re not because you have me to help you,” he told her firmly.

“Really?”  Gold wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or offended by how relieved his wife looked.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Mostly I’ve just been repeating ‘What the hell have I gotten myself into? Oh god oh god oh god.’ over and over again in my head.”  Belle gave him a wry look.  “If I’d gotten past that, I’m sure I would have realized that you wouldn’t hang me out to dry.”

Gold chuckled.  “We’ll do it together and put Cora’s past efforts to shame.”

Belle smiled a shark smile.  “I might enjoy that even more than raising money for stroke research.”

His wife had the face and temperament of an angel, but it pleased Gold to see that she wasn’t above a bit of petty vengeance.  No wonder they were such a perfect match.  

“Will we be inviting your friend August to the dinner?”

He hadn’t realized he was planning to say the words until they were out, and Gold flinched at the jealous note in his own voice.  He was being ridiculous.  What difference did it make if all of Belle’s friends were male models?  She was married to _him_.  She’d promised to be faithful to _him_.

“ _Ugh_.  August…” Belle groaned, unfeigned disgust in her voice.  “Not hardly.”

Based on that reaction, whoever August was, he was clearly not the boy from Maine.  “Did you have a falling out?”

Belle sat up a little more in her seat.  “I thought I was doing the right thing.  I thought it was… good to touch base with people from the past.  After August…”  She shook her head.  “I’m not so sure.  He is _not_ the person I thought he was.”

“I’m sorry he disappointed you.”  To his own surprise, Gold was mostly sincere.  Much as he would have liked to have his wife’s attention solely on him, he hated the thought that someone she cared about had let her down.  

“Should I stop?” she asked plaintively before he could offer to make August’s life miserable.  “Maybe it would be better to just let sleeping dogs lie and concentrate on the present and the future.  If two people haven’t talked for years, maybe there’s a reason.”

She looked at him like she was awaiting pearls of wisdom, and Gold made a show of concentrating on the road as he drove, giving himself time to think.  Considering how distressed Belle sounded, it would be easy to tell her to leave her old friends in her past and give all of her attention to the life she had now.  She would listen to him, and if she did, he would never have to worry about one of the handsome man she spoke to online stealing her away from him.  

He could keep Belle all to himself, and a dark part of him very much liked that idea.  Yet, even as he prepared the words to tell her to give up on her friends, Gold realized that they were the wrong ones.  He couldn’t lock his wife away in a tower and expect her to be happy about it.  Belle deserved to have friends.  Her world needed to have more than just him and her father in it.  She needed people who’d known her when she was young and silly and carefree because talking to those people would remind her what it felt like not to carry the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

“Don’t give up.  Just because August was a disappointment, it doesn’t mean that everyone will be.  I’m certain that your friends would love to hear from you.  You don’t just forget about someone after you lose touch with them.”  That was something Gold had learned very, _very_ well over the course of his life.  

“Besides, what’s the worst that can happen if you seek them out?  If you’ve grown apart, you’ll be able to get closure, and if you haven’t, you have another person in your life to care about you.”  Belle had been isolated for far too long.

Belle’s eyes shone.  “You’re right.  Thank you, Diarmid.  I needed to hear that.”

Gold felt warm when she leaned over to kiss the side of his face.  He was being unselfish, and it felt good.  This sacrifice was different than the ones he’d made for Milah.  He’d permitted her to see her lovers out of desperation, and the gesture had brought him nothing but pain.  On the other hand, he was encouraging Belle to see her friends because it was the right thing to do.  If he had to give up a little bit of her attention in return, he could live with that.  Belle deserved a vast circle of people who cared about her, and it pleased him to give her that.  It wasn’t a sacrifice, it was a _gift_.

He’d heard the old chestnut about it being better to give than to receive, but it was only now that Gold truly understood it.  Making Belle happy made _him_ happy too.  It had never been like that with Milah, and maybe that was where things had gone wrong.

The good feeling didn’t last long.

As the days passed after the dinner party, Belle started spending more and more time glued to her tablet, clearly taking his words to heart, and after two weeks of watching her attempt to give herself eyestrain, Gold couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake.  He wasn’t _jealous_ , exactly.  It was ridiculous to be jealous of a piece of technology that he’d been the one to buy in the first place.  He just wished that Belle spent a little more time looking at him and a little less time looking at her screen.

He frowned when she rolled over in bed and plucked her tablet off her nightstand, propping it on her chest so she could see the screen.  In the dark room, the glow gave her face a bluish cast.  This was getting ridiculous.  His own eyelids were heavy, his body humming with satisfaction from their lovemaking, and all he wanted was to wrap himself around his wife and drift into a contented sleep.  

“Bored with me already?” he queried, trying to keep his tone light.

Belle chuckled and reached out to trace a finger over his chest, pausing long enough to flick his nipple teasingly.  “Oh yes, you’re dreadfully boring.  Especially when you do that thing with your tongue.”

She faked an outrageous yawn.  “I don’t know how I kept my eyes open.”

“Brat,” he grumbled, unable to hide his smile.  If nothing else, his wife certainly appreciated his expertise.  “Put that damned thing down and go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Belle denied.  “Is the light bothering you?  I can go somewhere else if I’m going to keep you up.”

That wasn’t what he wanted at all, and Gold swallowed a sigh.  If he insisted Belle put down the tablet and cuddle with him, she would, but that wouldn’t satisfy him.  There would be no pleasure in wrapping his arms around her if he knew she was just waiting for him to drift off so she could get back to her tablet.

He rolled onto his side, his back to her.  “It’s fine.”

“Diarmid…”  A moment later, Belle was spooning up behind him, her hands splayed against his stomach.  “What’s wrong?”

He had no idea how to voice his thoughts without sounding like a lunatic.  Instead, he answered her question with one of his own.  “What are you doing on that thing?”

Belle stiffened.

“Nothing in particular,” she answered, just half a second too late to sound natural.

“Nothing in particular,” he repeated, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.  Belle had told him that she was trying to reconnect with her college friends, but if that was what she was doing, why would his innocent question catch her so off guard?

“I’m just messaging someone, that’s all.  Someone from ages ago.  I’m not even sure he is who I think he is.  He’s changed a lot.  Somehow I didn’t expect that.  I mean, I know that time has passed, but part of me was still expecting him to be exactly the way he used to be.  That’s what makes it hard to be sure I’ve got the right person.”  She was babbling, her voice picking up speed and rising in pitch.

Whoever Belle was so obsessed with, it wasn’t a mere friend.

“Does he live in Maine by any chance?”  Gold closed his eyes, praying to a god that he didn’t believe in that his suspicions wouldn’t be confirmed.

“No.”  For just an instant, he allowed himself to believe that that universe had taken pity on him until Belle continued, “He used to, but now he lives in Tallahassee.”

So, Belle’s boy from Maine was now her boy from Florida.  That answered a few questions as well as sparking several dozen more.  

“How nice.”  The words were acidic.

Belle kissed his shoulder.  “You’re tired.  You’re always grumpy when you’re tired.”

She was right.  He _was_ tired—so very tired of never being enough for the people he loved.  He knew that Belle would never love him the way he loved her, but he’d assumed that she would keep her promise to be faithful to him.

He was an idiot.

Gold ground his teeth and tried to force himself to sleep, conscious of Belle’s warm breath against his shoulder.  The way she rubbed gentle circles on his stomach soothed him despite his best efforts not to fall under her spell.  Maybe he was wrong, he thought desperately.  Maybe he’d misunderstood everything, and Belle really was just chatting with a friend.

This was why he’d fought so hard against loving Belle, he realized with despair.  He could live with knowing that she didn’t return his feelings, but discovering that she was unfaithful would destroy him.

So, he did his best not to discover it.

On the rare occasions that she left her tablet unguarded, Gold avoided it like it was radioactive instead of snooping around to see what she was doing online.  When she ducked out of the room to take a phone call, her voice hushed, he made no effort to follow and eavesdrop.  When he caught her staring off into space, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling, he didn’t ask her what she was thinking about.  He didn’t want to know the answer.

And when he asked her to accompany him on his business trip to Boston, he took her at her word when she said she wasn’t comfortable leaving Moe with Dove for several days.

“I’m _sorry_ , Diarmid.”  Her lips trembled with sincerity.  “I want to go.  I do.  I just _can’t,_ not this time.  Maybe next time?”

“It’s fine,” he dismissed, even though it was anything but.  “Next time.”

Belle nodded, her curls bouncing.  “Next time.”

Biting her lip, she looked up at him through her eyelashes.  “I’ll miss you.”

The worst part was that she sounded like she meant it.  

She didn’t just sound like she meant it; she _acted_ like she meant it too.  The night before his trip, she sat on the bed, watching as he gathered what he would need for the next few days.  When he went to his tie drawer, she leapt to her feet.  “Oh no you don’t.  That’s _my_ job.”

“Your job?” he asked, watching as she ran her fingers over his collection.

“Mm-hmm.”  She giggled.  “It’s my wifely duty to choose your ties, and I refuse to shirk my responsibilities.  You can think about me when you wear them.”

Gold chuckled, feeling his soul unclench.  Her tablet was nowhere to be seen, and Belle was acting so normal that it was easy to dismiss her suspicious behavior of the past weeks as nothing more than his own paranoia kicking into overdrive.  

Her eyes were soft and warm as she looked at him.  “How many ties will you need?  Three, right?  Aren’t these trips always three days?”

“Four.”  The lie was out before he realized he was going to tell it.  If there really was a boy from Maine or Tallahassee or Mars or wherever, Belle hadn’t seen him in months.  The promise of having four straight days without her husband around would look awfully tempting under those circumstances.

Whatever happened when he unexpectedly came home a day early, at least then he’d _know_.

“Four days…”  Belle’s shoulders slumped in apparent disappointment.  “All right, but you have to call me every single night.  Do you promise?”

“Nag, nag, nag,” he teased even as his spirit soared at her demand.  She was going to miss him.  

“I mean it.”  Belle waved a warning finger in his face.  “After your meetings, you go straight back to your hotel.  No stopping off to flirt with bartenders.”

Gold chuckled and nipped at her finger.  “So, I’m supposed to call home and flirt with my bartender that way?”

“Damn straight.”  Belle’s eyes sparkled.  “You’re a married man now, and I expect you to act like one.”

As he nudged her back toward the bed, planning to once again consummate said marriage, Gold tried to tell himself that he’d done the right thing.  When he came home on the third day, Belle would be pleased to see him.  He could tell her that when his last day of meetings was canceled, he’d rushed home to be at her side, and then they could spend the fourth day in bed making up for the time they’d lost.  

It was a surprise, not a trap.

She hardly would have told him to call her every night if she was planning to sneak her lover into the house or rush off to meet him somewhere.  Unless she’d told him to call just to allay his suspicions.  

If he thought about that, he’d drive himself mad.  As Gold trailed kisses down his wife’s body, he brutally shoved all of his worries to the back of his mind where they couldn’t interfere.  When he came home, he would either catch Belle with her lover or find his wife faithfully waiting for him.  For better or for worse, he would know the truth.

All he could do was hope that the truth wouldn’t destroy him.


	29. Chapter 29

There was no sign of Belle’s car.

Gold inhaled deeply and forced his heart to stop racing as he parked the Cadillac.  He’d bought the little silver BMW as a two month anniversary gift for Belle so that she would be able to come and go as she pleased.  That was the entire _point_ of having a car.  If he expected her to spend all of her time sitting at home, the BMW had been a waste of money.

The fact that the car was gone wasn’t damning.  As far as Belle knew, her husband wasn’t due home for another twenty-seven hours.  It wasn’t fair to be upset that she wasn’t there to greet him when she wasn’t expecting him for another day.  She could easily be out shopping or at the spa.  She could have decided to go out to dinner with Ariel or taken Moe and Dove to watch the sunset at the beach.  There were a thousand places she could be.  There was no reason to assume that she was currently in bed with her boy from Maine.

Over the course of his business trip, she’d given him exactly no reason to be suspicious of her.  Whenever he called or texted, she answered promptly, apparently pleased to hear from him.  In the evenings, they’d chatted about their respective days before taking advantage of the video chat feature on his phone to bridge the physical distance between them.

Gold loosened his tie at the memory.  He was married to a _very_ creative woman.

Either Belle was being faithful in his absence or his wife was a shockingly good actress who excelled at multi-tasking.  He knew which possibility he preferred, and after a few more deep breaths, he was able to banish his paranoia.  He’d go inside, say hello to Moe and Dove if they were there, and unpack.  By the time he was finished, Belle was certain to be home, and they could set to work getting reacquainted with each other.  Video could only do so much.

As he carried his bag upstairs, Gold could hear the sound of Elvis music and talk coming from Moe’s room, answering one of his questions.  Wherever Belle was, she hadn’t taken her father with her.  He couldn’t say that he blamed her.  Moe didn’t deal well with changes to his schedule.

“Mr. Gold.”  Dove’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the sight of him when he stepped into Moe’s room.  For Dove, that was the equivalent of anyone else’s open-mouthed shock.  

“What are you doing here?” Moe demanded.

“I live here.”

“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”  Dove attempted to smooth over the awkward moment.  

“My last day of meetings was canceled.”  To his surprise, it wasn’t as easy to tell the lie as he’d imagined it would be.

“It’s a pleasure to have you home.  I’m surprised Mrs. Gold didn’t mention your early return to us.”  Dove fished for information so smoothly that Gold almost didn’t notice he was doing it.

“I thought I’d surprise her.  What time are you expecting her to be back?”  

Dove’s flinch was nearly imperceptible, but that just made it all the more obvious.  Gold’s heart sank.  Something was happening here—something that everyone except him was aware of—and the knowledge set his teeth on edge.

“Dove.”  He pinned the bigger man with a steady gaze.  “Where is my wife?”

Dove returned his level stare and maintained his silence.  So that was how it was going to be.  Out of the corner of his eye, Gold could see Moe looking back and forth between the two of them, clearly uncomfortable.

“Moe, where’s Belle?”  It was a rotten thing to do, but Gold was a rotten person.  Over the last few months, he’d almost forgotten that fact.

“She went to the cabin with that boy.”  

Moe’s innocently damning words hung heavy in the air as Gold gritted his teeth.  “Thank you.”

“Mr. Gold.”  Dove half rose from his seat, lowering himself again when his employer shot him a glare.  “I would urge you not to jump to conclusions.”

“Oh?”  It was astonishing how calm he felt.  There was no shock or rage at Belle’s betrayal, only an ocean of cold acceptance.  He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the day he brought Belle home to Maine, and now it had.  She’d made him pretty promises and lied so well that he’d believed her, but In the end, she was just another Milah.  

“What conclusion should I be coming to, Dove?” he asked, genuinely curious how the other man would spin his wife’s faithlessness.

Dove shook his head, looking miserable.  “It’s not my place to get involved.”

On that, they could agree.  “No, it isn’t.  I suggest you remember that.  I’d hate for you to ruin Belle’s surprise.”

Dove might be loyal to Belle, but Gold was the one who paid his wages.  He would be wise to remember that.

Moe’s brow knitted together.  “Surprise?  It’s not her birthday.  Is it?”  

He turned to Dove.  “Did I forget Belle’s birthday?”

Gold turned on his heel and left Dove to find an answer for Moe.  He had more important things to worry about.  Like the fact that his wife was currently holed up in the cabin—their cabin—with her lover.  

Somehow that was almost worse than having her bring him into their home.  The house they shared with Moe and Dove, but the cabin was their private little escape.  It was where they didn’t have to worry about prying eyes or being overheard.  At the cabin, they could do whatever they wanted as often and as loudly as they wanted.  Even now, was Belle begging her lover to claim her on the bank of the creek?  Teaching him her favorite position the way she’d once taught her husband?

She probably didn’t need to teach him, Gold thought grimly.  No doubt, the other man already knew Belle’s preferences.  Hell, maybe he’d been the one to introduce her to that position in the first place.

He slammed his hand against the side of the steering wheel with an incoherent shout of pure rage.  He couldn’t remember making the decision to return to the car, but now that he found himself there, his course of action was obvious.  

Slamming his foot onto the gas pedal, Gold peeled out of the driveway and put Storybrooke in the rearview mirror.  For half a second, he was tempted to drive straight off a cliff.  His wife—the love of his wretched, miserable life—was unfaithful.  She’d sworn up and down to be honest with him and forsake all others, but the moment he left her alone, she’d run into another man’s arms.

Yet again, he hadn’t been enough.

The wave of pain that crashed into him made him keen like an animal.  He was smarter than this.  Years of experience had taught him that no one could be trusted, that love would lead to nothing but pain.  He _knew_ better, yet Belle had walked through the walls he’d spent decades building around his heart like they weren’t even there and snuggled in to stay.  In a matter of weeks, she’d made herself indispensable to him, and even now that he knew the truth about her, the feelings refused to dissipate.

Unfaithful or not, she was still his wife.  And he still loved her.

Gold cursed under his breath at the realization, the Cadillac slowing as he took his foot off the gas.  As he did, a silver BMW appeared on the road ahead of him, the car swerving wildly before righting itself.  Apparently, Dove had disobeyed his order not to inform Belle of his presence because his wife was driving like all the demons of hell were after her.  

When Gold sounded his horn, the BMW slammed to a stop so quickly that his own neck ached in sympathy.  Swallowing down that feeling, he slowly pulled alongside the other car, meeting his wife’s distressed eyes.  The passenger seat was empty.

Belle swallowed hard and rolled her window down, gesturing for him to do the same thing.  When Gold indulged her, she spoke quickly.  “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?”  Gold glanced back in the direction of the road that led to the cabin.  “Prove it.  Why don’t we drive back together so you can introduce me to your friend?”

It was theoretically possible that her lover had fled the scene before Belle, but based on the way she’d been driving, he was willing to bet that the other man was still squirreled away in their love nest.  His suspicions were confirmed when Belle shook her head.  “No.”

His smile was mirthless.  “I thought not.  Follow me.”

Without another word, he rolled the window up and put the Cadillac into gear.  In his rearview mirror, he could see Belle press her palms against her eyes for just a moment before she did as he commanded, the BMW falling neatly in behind him.

At first Gold had no idea where he was going, but the perfect idea soon presented itself.  The house was no place for the impending confrontation with Moe and Dove listening in, and the cabin was clearly out of the question.  Nor would he give the citizens of Storybrooke the satisfaction of knowing that his marriage was imploding by discussing this within their earshot.  That left only one other possibility.

It was right to hash this out here, he decided as he parked the Cadillac along the same secluded stretch of beach where he and Belle had been married.  Let that be a reminder to her of just how badly she’d fallen from grace.

He watched her face as she parked the BMW next to the Cadillac, but if Belle registered where they were, his wife gave no sign of it.  Instead, she held her head high as she got out of her car and gave him an expectant look.  

Gold kept his own face blank as he gazed back at her, calling on years of carefully honed negotiation skills to avoid letting any of his inner turmoil show.  When Belle realized he wasn’t getting out of the car, she opened the door to the passenger seat and sat down next to him, her spine very straight.  

“Diarmid, it’s not what you think.”

“Many things are not what I thought.  For instance, I didn’t think my wife was a whore.”

He had the sick pleasure of seeing her face go white.  It was a low blow, preying on insecurities she’d voiced to him early in their engagement when she told him the story of her previous fiancé.  At the time, he’d assured her that she wasn’t a whore for using her wiles to induce Greg to marry her and provide for her father.  Now, the tables were turned.

Belle swallowed visibly.  “That is a _horrible_ thing to say, but I’m going to let it slide.  You’re very angry with me, and I understand why.  But it’s not what you think.”

How many times had he heard that before?  Milah had insisted for years that her indiscretions existed only in his head until she decided it was more fun to flaunt them in his face.  

Gold’s stomach clenched when he realized how desperately he wanted to believe Belle’s words.  He would give _anything_ for all of this to be nothing more than a colossal misunderstanding.  Belle would tell him that she’d hired the stranger to have the cabin repainted in his absence as a surprise, and they’d have a good laugh about his paranoia before he apologized for calling her a whore and took her home to spend the next month making it up to her.  He wanted to believe her so badly that he was ready to accept any lie that fell from her lips.  

She would lie, and he would believe her.  They would carry on as before until another business trip took him away from Storybrooke, and it would start all over again.  Eventually, Belle would no longer be able to content herself with seeing her lover only once every few months and grow more brazen, until he couldn’t leave the house without knowing that she was taking advantage of his absence to welcome her lover into their marital bed.

Gold knew how this story went.  He’d read it before.

Last time, he’d been a pathetic fool, but he was older and wiser now.  Milah and Bae had taught him to be ruthless, and Cora had perfected the lesson.  Now, it was time for Belle to reap what others had sown.

“I have no interest in what you have to say.  Instead, _you_ are going to listen to _me_.  Everything you have is because I have given it to you.  I indulged you, and you took advantage of my generosity.  That ends _now_.”

Belle pressed her lips together in a tight line, his wife remaining wisely silent.  

“I think it’s time you discover what it feels like to have nothing.”  It took everything he had to keep his face composed.

“Are you going to divorce me?” she asked quietly.

Thanks to the prenup she’d insisted they revise, she was probably hoping that he would.  If he chose to divorce her, Belle was owed the home of her choice and a quarter of a million dollars each year in maintenance while he would continue to cover her father’s medical bills.  It wasn’t the lavish lifestyle she enjoyed with him, but it probably looked good enough to a woman who, six months ago, had been living in a slum, especially if it meant she would be free to be with her lover.

Gold allowed himself a dry laugh, his stomach churning.  “Of course not.”

He would never divorce Belle.  The money had nothing to do with it.  Over the course of his life, he’d lost every single person he loved, and he _would not_ part with her.  This was nothing more than a bump in the road.  Right now, she was testing the boundaries of their relationship.  Once she learned that there was no escape from him, she would accept her fate.  

She chose this, he reminded himself.  Belle chose to marry him.  She promised to be faithful to him.  All he was doing was holding her to her word.

“You will only leave the house if I accompany you.  You will present your phone and tablet to me for inspection whenever I ask.  You will delete your Facebook and any other social media accounts you might have.”  Belle didn’t prize material possessions, but she treasured her freedom.  Therefore, that was what he would take from her.  She couldn’t cheat if she didn’t have the opportunity.

Belle’s eyes glittered.  “You are being ridiculous.  Diarmid, you _have_ to listen to me.”

Before she could say another word, Gold got out of the car, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him slam the door shut.  Instead, he closed it gently before coming around to the passenger side and opening her car door like a true gentleman.  “Get out.”

Belle scrambled out of the Cadillac, her face pinched.  “What are you going to do?”

He opened the door to the BMW and reached across to pick up her purse.  Rifling through it, he found her phone and her tablet.  The car keys were still in the ignition, so he took those as well, removing anything that could connect her with the outside world.  

“I’m going to go have a few words with your lover while you sit here and think about how you’re going to make this up to me.”  He ran an insulting finger over her lips, making his meaning clear, and it was all he could do not to let his nausea show.

Tears glistened in Belle’s eyes.  “Diarmid, don’t do this.  This isn’t you.”

“Oh, but it is.”  This was a side of him that Belle had never seen.   He’d almost thought that she’d banished the darkness in his soul, but that was as much a delusion as her loyalty.  

“Why won’t you listen to me?” she begged.

He’d heard enough lies to last him a lifetime.  “I’ll be back later to get you.”

She’d be fine, he assured himself as he drove off, leaving Belle shouting after him.  Without her keys, she wasn’t going anywhere, and she couldn’t call Dove for a ride, but the only harm that could befall her out here was boredom.  When he came back for her in a couple of hours, she’d be thirsty and a bit warm, and his point would have been made.  The comfortable lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to was hers only as it pleased him.  

And right now, Diarmid Gold was very much displeased with his wife.

He wouldn’t be cruel, he promised himself as he made the short drive back to the cabin.  He wouldn’t drag this out unnecessarily.  Belle had made a mistake.  She’d underestimated him, and now she was learning her lesson.  By putting his foot down, he was making sure that she wouldn’t make that mistake again.  Based on what he’d told her about Milah, she’d probably assumed that he would be willing to turn a blind eye to her indiscretions.  A harsh lesson in reality was what she needed.

Once she learned that he was serious about expecting her loyalty, she would make her peace with it, he assured himself.  He would be strict with her just long enough to be certain that he’d made his point and then he’d loosen her reins.  In a matter of months, things would be back to normal, and they’d be able to be happy again.

That left only one loose end.

Despite his bold words, Gold assumed that Belle’s lover would have long-since fled the scene by the time he reached the cabin, but the rental car parked in front of it said differently.  Her lover was either brave or stupid, and it was time to find out which.

He was about to come face-to-face with the man Belle loved.

Gold was careful not to let a hint of trepidation show as he approached the cabin with arrogant grace.  He held all of the cards here.  This was _his_ cabin.  Belle was _his_ wife.  This man was no threat to him.

With that thought in mind, he brought his fist crashing into the wooden door, the sound shocking several birds out of the trees with a twitter of dismay.  It felt so good to hit something that he was almost sorry when the door opened.

The first thing he noticed was that Belle’s lover was tall.  Tall and broad-shouldered with shaggy brown hair, rumpled clothing, and a few days worth of stubble on his chin.  After months of separation, the least he could have done was make himself look presentable for her, Gold thought with a flash of irritation.   _This_ was what she found so irresistible?

Suddenly desperate to understand what his wife saw in the other man, Gold looked more closely, aware that he was being observed as well.  The other man was handsome enough, he supposed.  He had a face that looked like it smiled easily, and his eyes…

His eyes.

He _knew_ those eyes.

Feeling like the world was crashing down on top of him, Gold stammered, “B-Bae?”

The other man clenched his jaw.  “Hello, Papa.”


	30. Chapter 30

When Gold stretched out an instinctive hand to touch his son, wanting to verify that the boy was more than just a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking, Bae stepped back with a groan, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.  “I should’ve known this was inevitable.”

Gold staggered forward into the cabin, trying to close the distance between them.  “Bae…”  His eyes were watering, but he didn’t dare even blink, unwilling to take his eyes off the son he hadn’t seen since he was eight years old.  He’d gotten so _tall_.

Bae’s face hardened.  “My name is Neal.”

“Neal,” he repeated obediently.  If Bae was willing to talk to him after all of this time, Gold would call him whatever he wanted.

As he said the name, revelation struck him.  Belle’s Facebook friends weren’t named Eva and Nick.  They were Eva and _Neal_.  This entire time, she hadn’t been trying to track down her old college friends or carry on an affair.  She’d been searching for his son.

What the hell had he done?

“Belle wrote to you…” he murmured, and saying the words out loud made them real.  Belle had given him the greatest gift possible—a chance to make things right with his son—and how had he repaid her?  He’d called her a whore, told her he planned to treat her like prisoner in the the house they shared, and left her sitting on the beach with no phone and no car keys.

He was a monster.

Bae’s eyes were cold.  “I don’t know what kind of fairytale you told her, but I’m not falling for it.  I’m here for _me_ , not for you.  You’re going to answer my questions.  You owe me that much after what you did to me.”

Bae’s words drove every other thought out of Gold’s head.  “What I did to you?  Bae, I don’t understand.  What did I do?”  From the moment his son was born, Gold had tried to give him everything he wanted, even at the expense of his own happiness.  He’d permitted him to stay in California and signed away every parental right he had even though it broke his heart because that was what Bae wanted.  It was blindingly obvious that he’d made a colossal mistake somewhere, but he’d tried his best to do right by his boy.

His son shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at the ceiling as he huffed a humorless laugh.  “Unbelievable.  God, you’re a damned sociopath, aren’t you?”

“Bae, please…” Gold begged.  More than anything in the world, he wanted to wrap his son up in his arms and soothe away the pain in his eyes, but he had a feeling that Bae would probably punch him in the face if he tried.

“ _My name is Neal_!” Bae thundered, his face twisting in anguish.

“Neal,” Gold said quickly, holding up his hands in a conciliatory fashion, hoping to defuse his son’s rage.  

He’d learned quite a few tricks from years of brokering deals.  For one thing, it was always wise to remain standing, a bit of physical intimidation useful in breaking down the opposing side’s defenses.  With this in mind, Gold deliberately walked to the sofa and sat down, keeping his head angled down just enough to indicate submission without taking his eyes off of his son.  It was Bae who was in charge here, not him, and if he made it clear that he knew that, perhaps Bae would take pity on him and explain.

“I want to understand why you’re angry,” he said softly.

Bae gazed at him in disbelief.  “You’re serious, aren’t you?  You really don’t know.”

“I don’t, but I want to.  B-Neal.  Neal, please.  Tell me why you’re upset.”  When Bae was a child, he’d said a variation of those words countless times.  Back then, Bae had usually been upset about a spat with a friend or a broken toy, small problems that were easy to remedy.  Gold doubted that this issue would be as simple to resolve.

Bae sat down heavily in the chair opposite him, shaking his head in wonder.  “You shipped me off across the country and you didn’t think that would _upset_ me?” he demanded.  

The accusation stung.  “You _wanted_ to go to California,” Gold reminded his son.  If he’d had his way, Bae never would have traveled more than five miles from home.

“Because I thought I’d be coming back!” Bae’s words were nearly a shout.

Before Gold could point out that he’d chosen to stay in California, Bae raked his hands through his hair like he was trying to resist the urge to pull it out.  “Did you even think twice about it before you stuck me on that plane?  Did you—for one second—regret it?  Did you even _miss_ me?”

His son pinned him with a desperate gaze.  “Was I ever anything more to you than a burden?  All those times you played with me… all those times we talked… did any of it ever mean anything to you?”

The agony in Bae’s voice made Gold feel like he was being punched in the chest.  How could Bae ever doubt that his father loved him?  What the _hell_ went on in California?

“I have to know,” Bae insisted.  “Because if there’s _any_ of that in me… So, what happened?  Did you just get sick of me one day?  Or was all of it a lie?”

Bae’s face twisted with anguish.  “ _Answer me_!”

Gold had no idea how to answer questions that seemed to come from a different version of reality.  Yet, Bae clearly believed everything he was saying.  “Putting you on that plane was the biggest mistake I ever made.  I would have sold my soul to get you back.”

For just a second, his son’s eyes went glassy, then Bae shook his head, indicating wordlessly that he refused to accept what he was hearing.  “Bullshit.”

“I have missed you every day for twenty-five years.  I bought that pink house you wanted, and I still live in it because selling it meant giving up the hope that some day you would come home.”  His own eyes burned as he said the words, Gold finding it nearly impossible to give voice to years of agony.  Yet, he had to try.  Bae deserved the truth.

“If you wanted me to come home, why did you give me away?” Bae demanded.

“I didn’t—“

“I saw the paperwork!  ‘Voluntary Termination of Parental Rights’ signed by Diarmid Gold.  Mother had to show me because I didn’t believe her.  So, what?  Did somebody put a gun to your head and force you to sign that?  Or did you only decide you wanted me back after it was too late?”  Bae was clenching his hands together so hard that his knuckles were white.

“It broke my heart to sign those papers,” Gold informed him, hoping that his son could hear the honesty in his voice.  “I don’t know what your mother told you, but I did _not_ give you away.”

Something was wrong here.  Bae’s version of past events seemed to have little in common with the reality Gold had lived, and the fact that his son had been a child at the time wasn’t enough to account for the differences.  “Tell me what happened the summer you went to California.”

When Bae gave him an incredulous look, Gold held out his hands in supplication.  “Please.  Humor me.”

Bae leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest in a defensive position.  “Mother invited me to visit her in California, and you said I could go for the summer while you got the new house ready for us.  A few weeks after I got there, she told me the truth—you didn’t want me any more, so she agreed to let me live with her and Killian.”

“ _What_?!”  When Gold exploded out of his seat, Bae flinched back as though he feared a physical attack.

His son’s mouth twisted.  “I take it she wasn’t supposed to tell me that?”

Gold’s hand clenched on the handle of his cane, the urge to take it to every window in the cabin all but irresistible.  It would be the next best thing to using it on Milah.  “What else did she say?” he growled.

“She was actually pretty nice about it— for her.  Told me it would be okay because Killian always wanted a son, and he’d adopt me.  She was _pissed_ when I didn’t want any part of that.”  Bae smiled a little at the memory.

“And you believed her?”  He and Bae had been so close, so very close.  How could Bae ever possibly believe that his papa wouldn’t want him any longer?

“What was I supposed to think?” Bae challenged.  “You sent me away… you hardly ever bothered to call…”

“I called every single week!  You wouldn’t come to the—“  Gold cut himself off as he sat down hard, realizing for the first time just how neatly Milah had played him.

How neatly she’d played both of them.

“When we talked, you begged to come home, then you changed your mind and said you wanted to stay.”  Even now he could hear the echo of Bae’s childish voice.

“Of course I wanted to come home!  But you didn’t want me any more.  You were happier without me, and I had to do the right thing.”  Bae’s smile was bitter.  “You taught me that.  Love means putting the other person’s happiness first.”

“Oh god,” Gold mumbled.  How could he have failed so badly that Bae would think that he’d be happier without him?  Milah alone couldn’t be blamed for such a misunderstanding.  If he hadn’t taught his boy his own warped, self-loathing definition of love, Bae never would have thought that he had to sacrifice his entire life just to make his father happy.

“Every time we talked, I hoped you’d tell me that you changed your mind and you wanted me back.”  Bae’s words were brutally calm.  “Every time someone knocked on the door, I hoped it was you coming to get me.  But it never was.”

No, it never was.  He’d been so ready to believe that no one could ever truly love him that he’d simply accepted that Bae preferred Killian and Milah and let his son go without a fight.  He’d failed his boy in every way possible.

“Even after Mother showed me that paper, I didn’t give up.”  Every word Bae said only twisted the knife more.  “Every birthday, I made the same wish: please let me go home.  And you never even bothered to send me a card.”

Gold closed his eyes in despair.  He’d sent presents and letters over the years, and Milah had made sure Bae never got any of them.  His son had spent twenty-five years thinking that his father wanted nothing to do with him, and the thought of his suffering hurt far worse than the memory of his own.  “I am _so_ sorry.”

“I don’t care.”  Bae sounded like he meant it.  “I’m not that kid any more.  I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your apologies.  I did fine without you.”

He leaned forward, his gaze boring a hole in Gold’s chest.  “All I want from you is answers.  What happened?  Did you just wake up one day and realize you didn’t give a shit?  Or did you never care at all?”

“From the moment you were born, I have loved you more than life itself,” Gold could hear the raw note in his own voice.  “I never wanted you to go to California.  I was counting the days until you came home.  I called every week, and Milah told me that you wouldn’t come to the phone.  She said you didn’t want to talk to me… that you didn’t want to come back.  She told me that you wanted Killian to adopt you, so I signed away my rights.  Because I thought that was what you wanted.”

His eyes burned.  “I just wanted you to be happy.”  What a mess he’d made of that.

If anything, Bae only looked more disgusted.  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.  Surely you can come up with a better story than that.”

“Bae—”  At his son’s sharp look, Gold corrected himself.  “Neal, I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“ _Assuming_ that I believe you…” Bae’s voice made it clear that was a very large assumption indeed.  “That just makes it worse.  What sort of man just gives up on his kid?  I was _eight_!  I had no business making a decision like that.  If you loved me, why didn’t you fight for me?”

At the time he’d told himself that he was being selfless and putting Bae’s happiness above his own.  Gold had comforted himself with the thought that he was proving his love for his son by not upsetting him with a custody battle.  Now, with the clarity afforded by hindsight, Gold could see the truth.

“Because I’m a coward.”

The words hung in the air between them, Bae’s eyebrows raised like he was expecting more.  Gold swallowed hard and forced the words out.  “I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing you say you preferred Killian to me, so I didn’t challenge your mother and demand to talk to you.”

Bae shook his head.  “How could you believe that I’d like some random guy I just met more than my own father?  Because he took me to Disneyland?  Did you really think I was that shallow?”

Gold answered his question with one of his own.  “Did you ever wonder why you never met your grandparents—my parents?  My mother abandoned me when I was three days old, and after what my father did to me, I refused to let him get anywhere near you.  My own parents couldn’t love me.  Your mother… you know what happened with her.  There’s something _wrong_ with me, Bae.  Everyone sees it eventually.  I just considered myself lucky that I got to have you for eight years before you figured it out.”

Bae blinked rapidly and looked away, folding his arms across his chest.  Gold pressed on.  “I let you go because I didn’t think I deserved you.  If I’d known you wanted to come home, I would have crawled to California to get you.”

“You _should_ have known,” Bae whispered.  “I needed my papa, and you let me down.”

Gold clenched his teeth to choke back a sob.  “I’ll never forgive myself for that.  Bae, please…”

“I want to believe you.  I do.”  Bae shook his head.  “I just don’t know if I can.”

“I wrote to you every month,” Gold grasped for any proof he might offer.  “Every month when I mailed my child support check, I sent you a letter.  I sent presents for Christmas and your birthday.  Ask your mother’s lawyer; it all went to his office.  I _never_ forgot about you.  I never stopped loving you.”

“You paid child support?”  When he nodded, Bae snorted.  “Yeah, I never saw a penny of that.”

Gold was nearly afraid to ask his next question.  “Were you happy in California?  Did they give you a good life?”  

Bae shrugged.  “I ran away from home when I was sixteen if that tells you anything.”

“Sixteen?” Gold rasped, the thought sending a chill down his spine.  

“It’s not like it was _bad_.”  Bae sounded terrifyingly blasé about what had to have been a wretched childhood.  “They didn’t beat me or keep me locked up in the basement or anything like that.  I just got sick of being invisible.  Mother never had much use for me—you know that.  And Killian lost interest once he figured out that I had no intention of being the son he always wanted.  I took off as soon as I could, and I’m honestly not sure if they even noticed.  Doesn’t matter.  I did okay on my own.”

It was even worse than he’d thought.  When Bae announced that he ran away from home, Gold had been picturing a teenage fit of pique, but the more he heard, the more it sounded like Bae had been fending for himself since he was sixteen years old.  “You can’t possibly mean… how did you _survive_?”

Bae shrugged.  “I got a fake ID so I could pick up odd jobs.  Hitchhiked around the country.  Made a lot of friends and stole a few cars.  Stole a _lot_ of shit, honestly.  Never got caught.”

He grinned, looking heartbreakingly young.  “I changed my name to Neal Cassidy as soon as I was old enough.  What can I say?  I read a lot of Kerouac when I was a teenager, and I figured I’d follow in his footsteps.  Back then, breaking into amusement parks and sleeping in train stations was an adventure.”

Nausea curdled in Gold’s gut.  While he’d been living in the lap of luxury in Maine, his son had been living on the streets, forced to steal just to stay alive.

Bae’s smile flickered.  “I went to Maine once, you know?  Drove past that pink house.  I even thought about going up and knocking on the door, just to see what would happen.”

He shook his head, his eyes stormy. “I couldn’t do it.  I didn’t know if you lived there or if you’d sold it, and I wasn’t sure which possibility I hated more.  If you were there, I don’t know what the hell I would have said to you.  I probably would have punched you in the face.  Or broke down crying.”

He looked down, flexing his hands.  “I didn’t go anywhere near New England after that.”

“Bae…”  Gold stretched out a pleading hand to his son that Bae pretended not to see, and he let it drop.

“Anyway… eventually I pulled myself together.  Got a job, met a girl.”  This time, his smile looked genuine.  “Her name’s Emma.”

Not Eva and Neal… _Emma_ and Neal.  Gold’s breath left him in a rush as a mental picture of that Facebook page formed in his mind, reminding him of what else had been on it—an ultrasound picture.

He was going to be a grandfather.

“She’s pregnant,” Neal confirmed, his smile disappearing.  “Let’s just say that stirred up a whole lot of shit that I’ve spent decades trying not to think about.  So, when my scumbag buddy August told me that someone was trying to track down Baden Gold, I decided to bite.”

That was another familiar name, and Gold winced when he remembered how put out Belle had been with someone named August.  How could he have been so blind for so long not to realize what she was trying to do?

“I’m _so_ glad that you did,” he said, humbled by his son’s generosity.  Bae thought his papa had abandoned him, and he’d still deigned to meet with him.

“I figured it was my chance to get some answers.  Because if there’s _any_ chance of me doing to my kid what you did to me…”  Bae trailed off, shaking his head.

“You won’t.  You never could.  You’re better than me, Bae.  Stronger.  Braver.  You always have been.”  This time, Gold didn’t bother to hold back his tears.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry that I made you feel unwanted.  I’d do anything to take it back, to make it up to you.  I love you, son.  I should have fought for you—for _us_ —but I was too much of a coward to take that risk.  I’m _so_ sorry, Bae.  Please…”

He held out his hand in mute appeal, and a sob threatened to tear his chest in two when Bae clasped it.

“I’m still _pissed_ ,” Bae muttered, his own voice breaking as his hid his face against their joined hands.  “Papa…”

Hesitantly, Gold reached up with his free hand to stroke his son’s shaggy hair, and when Bae slumped against him, his heart nearly burst.  Things weren’t all right, but he had his son back.  After twenty-five years, he finally had the chance to make things right, and this time he wouldn’t let fear win.

“It’s okay…” he murmured.  “It’s okay now, Bae.  Papa’s here.”

When Bae fell into his arms, Gold let out a strangled sob and buried his face in his son’s hair, breathing the boy in.  Due to his own cowardice, he’d missed everything.  He’d missed the chance to help Bae with his homework and teach him to drive a car.  He’d lost the chance to console him through his first heartbreak and the opportunity to share his joy when he met the woman of his dreams.  When he put Bae on that plane, he was eight years old, and now he was a man grown.  There were twenty-five lost years that he could never get back, and even if Bae one day managed to forgive him, Gold knew that he would never forgive himself.

In this moment, even that pain was bearable.  He had his son in his arms again, and Gold wouldn’t let one more moment go to waste.


	31. Chapter 31

Walking away from Bae was the hardest thing Gold had ever done.  He and his son had talked for hours, but it wasn’t enough, not when they had twenty-five years of catching up to do.  

Tomorrow, Bae would return to Tallahassee, but he’d promised to visit again soon, bringing Emma with him next time.  Somehow, after everything, Gold had redeemed himself enough that Bae was willing to allow him a place in his new life.

The euphoria at being reunited with his son lasted until Gold stepped off the cabin’s front porch and abruptly realized that it was fully dark outside.  

Oh _shit_.

He’d meant to leave Belle cooling her heels on the beach for no more than an hour, just long enough to make his point about holding her to her vows.  Except, he’d jumped to exactly the wrong conclusion about her secrecy.  Belle hadn’t been holed up in the cabin with a lover.  Instead, she’d been quietly working to give him the greatest gift possible, and in return, he’d treated her shamefully.

He’d taken her phone and car keys from her, stranding her, and in his joy at being able to actually talk to his son, he’d forgotten the implications of that.  The entire time he’d been reconnecting with Bae, Belle had been waiting for his return, probably wondering if he meant to punish her by leaving her there overnight.

Gold swallowed a mouthful of bile as he climbed into the Cadillac and put his foot on the gas.  He’d left Belle waiting for hours, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her waiting another ten minutes.  There was no way to make up for what he’d done, but the faster he returned her keys and at least _attempted_ to apologize for the unforgivable, the better it would be.

What if something had happened to her?  His mind raced as he drove, ignoring all the rules of the road.  She should be fine—it was Storybrooke after all—but what if she wasn’t?  What if she’d taken ill or some lunatic with a machete had started wandering the beaches after dark?  

He didn’t draw a full breath until he found the BMW exactly where he’d left it, the shadow of Belle still in the driver’s seat.  She was utterly still, her head canted to the side at an uncomfortable angle, and his heart threatened to pound its way out of his chest as he approached the car on shaky legs.

She was breathing, he realized, his knees nearly giving out when he saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest.  By the light of the moon, he could see tear tracks on her face, and he wondered if she’d cried tears of rage or despair.  Either option appalled him.

When he tapped gently on her car window, Belle jolted awake, looking around wildly for a moment before she subsided back into the seat with a groan as she realized where she was.  Only then did she turn to look at him, her eyes shadowed and wary.  

“I am _so_ sorry,” he said clearly, hoping that she could hear him through the window.  

When Belle continued to glare at him, Gold swallowed hard.  “Do… do you want me to drive you home?  Here, I have your keys.”

When he held them up as proof, Belle opened her car door just enough to snake her arm out and snatch them from his hand before shoving them into the ignition.  Gold took a hasty step back, getting out of way as she slammed the car into reverse.

As quickly as he could, he followed her in the Cadillac, hoping that her anger at him had cleared away the cobwebs of sleep enough that she would be alert behind the wheel.  To his relief, her driving was crisp and precise as she made the drive back to the pink house.

Gold hung back as she parked the BMW and got out, climbing the steps to the porch.  Only then did he follow her, trying to respect any desire she might have for space from him.  He considered himself fortunate that she’d actually returned to the house since Belle would have been more than justified if she’d decided to spend the next night or seven at Storybrooke’s bed and breakfast.

She didn’t so much as look back at him as she climbed the stairs to the second floor, Gold trailing in her wake when she headed for her father’s bedroom.  Not sure what else to do, he leaned against the wall opposite Moe’s bedroom door, listening as she greeted Dove and her father.  To his ears, she sounded almost normal.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!”  Gold winced at Moe’s exuberant birthday wish.  He was probably going to have to explain why Moe thought it was his daughter’s birthday, and that story didn’t reflect well on him.   _Nothing_ about this night reflected well on him.  

“It’s not my…”  He could almost hear Belle change her mind mid-sentence.  “Thanks, Dad!”

“Are you well, Mrs. Gold?”  Dove’s worry was palpable.

“I’m fine,” Belle assured him, her voice warm.  “Thank you for everything, Dove.  I’m so sorry that you had to get involved.”

He owed Dove an apology too, Gold decided as he tried to tune out the conversation happening in Moe’s room.  He’d done enough tonight without eavesdropping on Belle’s private conversations.  In the space of one evening, he’d managed to make a mess out of every relationship that meant anything to him, save for the one with his son, and the rebuilding process was going to be long and slow.

That was all the more reason to start immediately.  Gold did his best to gather his scattered thoughts, and by the time Belle stepped out of Moe’s room, he thought he had a reasonably good speech prepared.

“My actions tonight were unconscionable,” he began as soon as she closed the door to her father’s room behind her.

Cool blue eyes met his.  “They certainly were,” Belle agreed before she turned on her heel and headed for their bedroom.

He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to follow her.  “Belle, I’m sorry.  I am.  I jumped to conclusions and thought the worst of you, and that was wrong of me.”

Belle didn’t even break stride until she’d shut herself in the en suite bathroom.  Gold winced as the door closed in his face and took a deep breath as he sought to collect himself.  He took a moment to place her phone and tablet on her nightstand, trying to undo what damage he could, then returned to the closed door.  “You gave me my son back.  I can never thank you enough for that.  Seeing Bae again… I don’t know how to tell you what it meant to me.  That you went to so much trouble to find him and arrange for him to visit…”

It was all he could do not to tell her that if he hadn’t already loved her, that would have sealed the deal.  At this point, confessing his feelings could only make things a thousand times worse.  “Thank you, sweetheart.  It’s the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me.”

At some point, he’d started leaning on the bathroom door, trying to be as close as possible to Belle, and when she pulled the door open, he nearly fell over.  “What if it hadn’t been Bae?” Belle asked.

“I don’t understand.”  Was she asking how he would have reacted if she’d presented him with a stranger who claimed to be his son?  If that was the case, Gold liked to believe that he would have appreciated her gesture, even as disappointment threatened to drown him.

Belle folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the door frame, giving him a challenging look.  “How long would you have left me sitting in my car if I’d been at the cabin with some random guy?  How long would I have been under house arrest?”

Gold winced at the memory of his cruel threats.  “You have every right to be angry.”

“You called me a _whore_!” she reminded him, her voice rising dangerously until she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, visibly striving to regain control of herself.

“I’m _so_ sorry about that.”  That was the problem with words: once spoken they couldn’t be unheard.  No matter how many times he apologized, he and Belle would always have the memory of him using that ugly word.

“Your business trips are _always_ three days.  That’s all the longer this one was ever supposed to be, wasn’t it?  You told me it was longer so you could come home early and try to catch me doing something wrong.  It was a trap.”  

When she said it like that, it sounded even worse than it had actually been.  

“Belle, I had to know.”  Gold swallowed hard.  “The way you were acting… it was suspicious.  Leaving the room to take calls… spending hours on your tablet… Half the time when I spoke to you, it was like you were on another planet.”  

He’d been afraid she was thinking about her lover, and the entire time, she’d been plotting his reunion with his son.  She’d been trying to do something nice for him, and he’d rewarded her by acting like a colossal ass.

“So you jumped to the conclusion that I was cheating on you.  Even though I promised that I would be faithful to you.  Even though we promised to trust each other.”  Her voice was flat.

That wasn’t entirely fair.  “I made you the same promises, and you thought Cora was my mistress,” he reminded her.

“Because Cora went out of her way to convince me that she was!”  Belle shoved past him on her way to the dresser, jerking open her pajama drawer so hard that it nearly dumped its contents onto the floor.

“That was _months_ ago.  If some busybody called me tomorrow to tell me she saw you with your tongue down some girl’s throat, I wouldn’t believe her because I know you better than that now.  I thought you could say the same about me.  I thought _my husband_ knew me well enough to know that I’m not a cheater.”  

It was a fair point.  They’d come a long way since that first dinner party when their relationship had been new and fragile.  They’d spent months building a solid foundation of trust and understanding, and in one night, he’d blown that foundation to smithereens because he’d let his own insecurities get the best of him.

As Belle dug through her pajama drawer, she came up with the dinosaur pajamas she’d worn on their wedding night.  Gold only had time to catch a glimpse of them before she was shoving them back down into the bottom of the drawer as quickly as though she feared they were radioactive.

Hesitantly, he stepped close enough to rest his hands on her shoulders, disappointed but not surprised when Belle shrugged him off.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know what else to say.”

“There’s nothing you _can_ say.  Now that I know how low your opinion of me really is, I don’t know how I’m going to get past that.”  Belle pushed the drawer closed and braced her hands on the top of the dresser, letting her head fall.

“It’s not… I don’t…”  She’d gotten it all wrong.  It wasn’t _her_ that he had a low opinion of but himself.  He’d believed she was cheating not because she was essentially dishonest but because he knew himself well enough to know that no one could ever be satisfied with him.  

Telling her that meant showing his throat, and Gold couldn’t quite bring himself to do so.  Things were bad enough between them right now.  Telling her just how much he hated himself could only come across as a clumsy guilt trip, and the last thing he wanted was her pity.

There was one last card he had to play, one defense he could offer for his behavior without coming right out and telling her that he was so madly in love with her that his jealousy had eaten him alive.  “I called you a whore because I was hurt and angry,” he began.  “That’s not how I think of you.  I do know you better than that.  You’re not the sort of woman who’ll jump into any man’s bed just for a thrill.”

In other words, she wasn’t Milah.  Gold hoped that she understood the unspoken comparison.

Before he could finish his thought and tell her that he’d questioned her loyalty not because he thought the worst of her but because her father had told him about her boy from Maine, Belle laughed bitterly.  “That’s easy to say now.  I sincerely hope you didn’t accuse Neal of being my lover.”

If he hadn’t immediately recognized his son, he might have done just that, and the thought of how close he’d come to completely alienating his boy with his own idiocy made his head spin.  “No, I saved the bulk of my stupidity for you.”

“Lucky me,” Belle sighed, sounding more sad than sarcastic.  With a shake of her head, she pushed off the dresser, heading for the bedroom door.

Instinctively, Gold reached out to catch her arm, letting his hand drop at the last moment.  After his earlier threat to keep her prisoner in the house, restraining her was a _very_ bad idea.  “Stay.  Please.”

“Yes, I know.  You expect me to share your bed.  But you know what?  Right now, I don’t give a damn about my wifely duties.  I’m not sleeping in here with you.”  Belle shifted her weight half a step closer to the door, clearly on the verge of fleeing.

If he could just wrap her up in his arms and whisper apologies into her hair under the cover of forgiving darkness, they might be able to get past this, but if Belle wanted no part of him, he couldn’t force that affection on her.  Nor, after the day she’d had, could he put her out of her own room.  She deserved the comfort of familiarity.

“You take the bedroom.  I’ll sleep in my office.”

Belle wavered, then gave him a tiny nod.  “Thank you.”

“After my earlier behavior, I’d say it’s the least I can do.”  He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his tone, his ire aimed solely at himself.  He’d just been reunited with his son.  Right now, he should have Belle on his lap as he recounted the entire evening for her, the pair of them picking over each piece of information Bae had shared to make sure he hadn’t missed a single thing.  They should be embracing, Belle sharing his joy that Bae had deigned to give him a second chance.  He should be lying her down on their bed and demonstrating just how grateful he was for the gift she’d given him.

If he wasn’t an abject fool, that was exactly what they would be doing.  Instead, he’d thrown a jealous temper tantrum, and due to his ridiculous threats, his wife wasn’t even comfortable sleeping in the same room.  Would he never grow tired of destroying his own life?

Belle perched on the side of the bed, staring at the wall as Gold gathered the few things he’d need for the night.  There was no way that he’d be able to sleep with this hanging over them, but at least he could give Belle the space she needed.  

Even though he knew that Belle needed time on her own right now, Gold couldn’t quite force himself to leave the bedroom.  Earlier, he’d nearly brought to light the final secret between them, and even though the moment had passed, he couldn’t seem to drop the idea.  At this point, could he really make things worse?

Hesitating just inside the bedroom door, Gold swallowed hard and forced the words out.  “I had good reason to believe you were unfaithful.  Your father let the cat out of the bag.”

Her blue eyes narrowed as she focused on him.  “Don’t you _dare_ blame my father for tonight.”

“No, not for tonight.  I’m not blaming him for tonight,” he hastened to agree.  “I just meant… he _told_ me, Belle.”

Try as he might, he could detect no hint of guilt or consternation in her face as she climbed off the bed and approached him.  “Told you what?  What did Dad tell you?”

He’d been the one to bring it up, and Gold cursed himself for the decision.  With Belle only a foot away from him, the words seemed impossible to say.  Saying them aloud, here in their bedroom of all places, would make the existence of the boy from Maine all too real.  

It was too late to turn back now.  “He told me about the boy from Maine.”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted.  “Okay.”

“It was the day I brought the two of you home from Boston.  You were asleep, and he asked where we were going.  When I told him Maine, he admitted that you knew someone in Maine— that there was a boy you like who lives here.”  Gold’s throat constricted as he said the words, the desperate hope flaring in his chest that Belle would tell him that he’d completely misunderstood Moe and there was no boy from Maine.

For a long moment, Belle simply stared at him.  “You cannot be serious.”

“Those were his exact words.”  The memory of them was burned indelibly into his mind.

Belle shook her head as though trying to clear it.  “Wait.  So, Dad told you months ago that I like some boy who lives in Maine, and you’ve been stewing about it ever since?”

He opened his mouth to deny that he’d been doing any such thing, then closed it again.  Her words were an apt summation.  “More or less.”

“And that’s why you came home early.  You thought you were going to catch me with this boy from Maine that I like.”  Belle’s voice shook.

“Aye.”  He’d behaved badly, true, but his suspicions hadn’t come from nowhere.

“Are you really _that_ stupid?”

Her words stung at the same time they offered hope.  “Are you saying that I misunderstood or that your father misspoke?  That there is no boy from Maine?”

Belle shook her head, and Gold felt his heart crack with her answer.  “Oh no, he was right.  There was a boy from Maine that I liked a great deal.”

His jealousy threatened to choke him.  “Do you love him?”

Belle’s eyes unfocused as she considered the question.  “I have absolutely no idea how to answer that.”

“Tell me the truth,” Gold demanded.  “Tell me who he is.”

For the life of him, he had no idea what he was going to do with that information.  As Belle’s husband, he would be within his rights to insist that she never speak to her lover again.  As the man who loved her, the man who’d already treated her abominably, he would be better served to offer to let her visit him, no questions asked.

Belle gave him an impatient look.  “Think about it, Diarmid.  Think _hard_.”

He’d done nothing but think about it since the moment Moe had revealed his rival’s existence, and he was no closer to an answer.  “Belle, just tell me.  Please.  Who is he?”

Reaching behind him, she turned the handle and pushed the door open.  “If you can’t figure it out, you don’t _deserve_ to know.”

With a gentle shove, she pushed him backwards out of the room and closed the door in his face.


	32. Chapter 32

Milah cackled as she brought the baseball bat down on the priceless vase, sending tiny pieces flying.  Shards of glass sliced into Belle and Bae’s expressionless faces, creating shallow cuts that dripped blood down their cheeks like tears.  

Gold struggled to reach for them, meaning to wipe the blood away since they didn’t move to do it themselves, but he was held by invisible bonds that prevented him from coming to their aid.  Milah’s laughter shook the house as she brought her bat down again, smashing another antique to smithereens.

“Stop it, Papa!”  Eight-year-old Bae pleaded like he was the one responsible for the destruction.

“He won’t,” Belle sighed.  “He never does.”

“He ruins everything,” Bae, now thirty-three, agreed.

“I’m not doing it,” Gold tried to tell them, but no one seemed to be listening.  Desperate to be heard, he shouted, “It’s not my fault!”

Gold started violently awake, nearly falling off his office couch in the process.  He’d been dreaming, he realized as he slumped back and panted for breath.  In his nightmare, Milah had broken into the house and started smashing everything in her path while Belle and Bae—who flickered between being eight years old and thirty-three every time Gold looked at him— watched her with expressionless faces, blaming him for the destruction while he pleaded his innocence.

His subconscious had a very nasty sense of humor.

With a groan, Gold hauled himself off the couch, his jaw dropping when he realized it was after ten in the morning.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late, but if anything, he only felt more exhausted than he had been the night before.

He’d been reunited with his son, which was all he’d wanted for the past twenty-five years.  He should be over the moon with relief and joy.  Yet there was a stone weight of despair sitting on his chest, threatening to crush the life out of him.  He had Bae back, true, but he’d also taken a metaphorical wrecking ball to his marriage in the process.

No, he refused to believe that his marriage was over.  It would take time to repair the damage that he’d done last night, but he had plenty of that.  Thanks to the prenuptial agreement they’d signed, Belle couldn’t leave him.  That meant she would be forced to work with him to sort things out.  She was furious now, but she couldn’t possibly be planning to stay angry with him until the day he died.

Gold had all of the leverage here, but for some reason, the thought didn’t please him.  He didn’t want Belle to stay with him because she had no other choice.  He wanted her to choose him, like he would always choose her.

She’d chosen him over Greg when she agreed to be his wife, but if given the same choice today, Gold wondered if she would make the same decision.  His rival might have been a lout, but he probably would have had enough sense not to threaten to hold Belle prisoner in the house and then steal her car keys and phone, leaving her alone and helpless.  

Gold winced as he realized Belle might well have been better off choosing Greg to be her husband.

He’d made a mistake, but he wouldn’t repeat it.  Gold made a mental vow to that end as he dressed for the day.  From now on, Belle would have his complete trust.  

But _could_ he trust her?  Gold hated himself for wondering, but there was still the boy from Maine to contend with.  Last night, Belle had confirmed everything— verifying that there was indeed a boy in Maine that she liked a great deal, and the fact that she’d refused to say whether or not she loved him was a very bad sign indeed.  If their relationship was nothing more than a light flirtation, she would have had no reason not to tell him so.

She’d refused to give him the other man’s name, insisting that he should be able to figure out who his rival was for himself.  He’d fallen asleep obsessing over the question, and in the bright light of morning, he was no closer to an answer.

If she expect him to be able to discern the identity of her lover for himself, it had to be someone he knew.  At this stage of their relationship, they didn’t yet have very many acquaintances in common, and none of the possibilities felt right to him.

George King, Henry Mills, and James King were all out.  He might not know what his wife liked in a man, but he knew Belle well enough to be certain that she would never be able to honestly say she liked any member of that trio at all, much less a great deal.

Next, his mind went to Dove.  Gold glared at himself in the bathroom mirror, his razor clutched tightly in his shaking hand.  If he tried to shave himself right now, he’d probably cut his own throat by accident.  

Dove made more sense than the other three combined.  It was Belle who’d taken one look at the big man’s picture and insisted they interview him.  It was Belle who’d decided to hire him.  They two of them had bonded almost immediately— almost as though they’d already known each other?

Logical as it appeared at first glance, the theory didn’t hold up to deeper inspection.  For one thing, Moe would never be able to keep such a secret.  More importantly, he’d never detected a single hint of romantic attraction between Dove and Belle.  The pair of them were solid friends and absolutely nothing more.

So, who was left?  Only one other name came to mind, although he didn’t have anything more than a name.  

August.  

Gold let the issue percolate in the back of his mind as he focused on shaving, giving the matter at hand his full attention.  By the time his face was smooth, his subconscious had coughed up a neat list of facts.  First, Belle had definitely been spending a great deal of time on her tablet interacting with August.  Second, later she’d been angry with him, suggesting that the pair had had a falling out.  It was a reasonable leap to assume it had been a lovers quarrel.  Third, August and Bae were friends.  Perhaps August had attempted to get back into Belle’s good graces by giving her Bae’s contact information.  

If that was the case, Belle’s lover was at least partially responsible for Gold’s reunion with his son.  He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

However he felt, spending the rest of his life hiding in the downstairs bathroom wasn’t going to fix anything.  He needed to find Belle and set to work making amends since he’d made an utter hash of it last night.  For the life of him, he didn’t know how to make this up to her.  Buying expensive jewelry had never failed to sweeten the temper of his previous lovers, but he knew that if he tried to buy Belle’s forgiveness with a diamond necklace, she would be more insulted than pleased.

Probably the best thing to do was to simply ask what she wanted.  Belle was the one who’d been hurt by his behavior, therefore it should be up to her to set the terms of his penance.  Gold winced as he realized that if he’d decided to talk to his wife about their unspoken issues sooner, this entire disaster could have been avoided.

Belle proved to be easier to find than he’d expected.  When he stepped into the kitchen, planning to fix himself a cup of coffee to clear the last of the cobwebs from his mind, she was already sitting at the kitchen table, her tablet in front of her and her hand stuck in a box of sugary cereal.

If this had been any other morning, he’d tease her about her eating habits, and she would attempt to get him to try a bowl of her colorful marshmallow concoction before offering to make him toast.  She’d pretend that she was going to spread peanut butter and grape jelly on his toast, and he would inform her that she’d derive more nutrition from eating her cereal box than the cereal itself.  Then they’d laugh and kiss, and perhaps he’d skip work for the day in favor of taking her up to their bedroom and reaffirming their connection.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t any other morning, and Gold couldn’t bring himself to tease her, afraid that she’d take any comment on her eating habits as an attack.  Belle, sensing his presence, looked up and pushed her tablet across the table in his direction.  “Do you want to inspect my tablet?”

Bile rose in his throat.  “No.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.  “Then I’m sure you’ll want to check my phone.  Here you go.  Should I write down my passcode for you or just disable it?  I wouldn’t want you to have any trouble getting in to read my texts.”

“Belle, stop,” he pleaded as he dropped into the seat opposite her.  With an unsteady hand, he pushed the phone and tablet back towards her.  “I’m not going to inspect your phone or insist you stay in the house or do any of those other horrible things I threatened last night.  I was angry, and I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.  I’m _sorry_.  I’ll make it up to you however you want me to.  Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.  I want to make this right.”

Some of the tension left Belle’s body as she shoved her phone back into her pocket.  Instead of anger in her eyes, he saw a deep sadness reflected there, and that might actually have been worse.

“Belle…”  He reached halfway across the table, not quite daring to touch her hand.  “Please, sweetheart.  Last night, I took my anger out on you, and that’s unforgivable.  I don’t know how to make it better, but I am truly sorry.  I am.”

“I accept your apology,” she murmured, her attention focused on her empty cup of tea like she was trying to read her future in its dregs.

He’d apologized and she’d accepted his apology, yet nothing between them felt resolved.  “So… are we okay?” he asked, not really expecting her to agree.

Belle picked up her empty teacup and regarded it for a moment before dashing it against the floor.  Gold jumped as it cracked into pieces, his heart skipping a beat.  

Looking down at the broken cup, Belle said clearly, “I’m sorry.”

After a moment, she looked back at him.  “Do you understand?”

Gold looked from Belle to the broken cup and back, feeling like he was missing something important.  “No, I don’t.  I’m sorry.”

“I apologized, but the cup is still broken,” she explained as she leaned down to gather the pieces and place them on the table between them.  “Even if I glue it back together, it’s never going to be like it was.”

“Ah.”  It would have hurt less had she stabbed him with one of the jagged pieces, her metaphor clear.  He could apologize until he turned blue, but it wouldn’t undo the damage he’d done to their marriage.  Even if they did the work to repair things, they would never be able to go back to the carefree happiness they’d had only two days ago.

With careful hands, he picked up two of the pieces and fit them together, then considered the result.  “There will always be cracks, but it _can_ be made whole again.  In time, maybe the cracks won’t matter so much.”

“Maybe.”  From Belle’s tone of voice, it was clear that she considered that possibility extremely unlikely.

To distract himself from what she seemed to be saying. Gold cast about for another topic of conversation.  “I know who your boy from Maine is.”

When Belle raised her eyebrows at him, he realized he’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire.  He would have been better served to ask how Moe was doing today or comment on the weather.

It was too late now.  “It’s August, isn’t it?  I know the two of you had a falling out.  Is it… over now?”

One look at Belle’s incredulous face told him that he’d gotten it wrong.  “You think I have feelings for _August_?”

“All right, all right.  So, it’s not August.”  So much for his deduction skills.  Now, he was right back at square one.  “It’s not Dove, is it?”

For half a second, he thought Belle was going to throw the broken cup at him.  “I _sincerely_ hope you’re not serious.”

“No.  No, I’m not.”  He’d figured as much out for himself before, and he’d only revisited the idea because he’d exhausted his other options.  The only other man Belle knew with any connection to Maine was _him_.

Oh.

Oh _god_.

“It’s me,” he rasped, half-expecting her to laugh in his face at his presumption.  Instead, Belle’s shoulders tensed as she gave him a single nod, acknowledging the truth of his words.

No wonder she thought he was stupid, Gold thought wildly.  This entire time, his wife had been in love with him, and he’d never guessed.  He’d accused her of all sorts of ridiculous things, spent months being eaten alive by jealousy, and the whole time he’d been jealous of himself.

_He_ was the boy from Maine.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, latching onto that question because if he thought about the implications of this— the time wasted, the way he’d treated her when she’d only ever acted out of love for him— he was going to be sick.

“Why would I?” Belle shot back.  “You made it _very_ clear from the start that you had no interest in love.  Our marriage was only ever a business arrangement.  You wanted a companion whose loyalty you could guarantee, and I wanted your money.”

Now, he _was_ going to be sick.  When he proposed, he’d thought he was making a good case for himself as her husband, assuring her that they could be happy even though she had no strong feelings for him.  Instead, every one of his snide remarks about love and fairytale endings must have been a slap in the face.  When he asked her to marry him, Belle had probably been happy to think he returned her feelings.  Instead, he’d promptly smashed every one of her pretty illusions into pieces.

Dear god, what had he _done_?

“Belle, I love you.”  He extended his hands in supplication.  He should have given her those words months ago, and Gold cursed the insecurities that had kept him silent.  

The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, but at least something good had come out of them.   Now that he knew his wife loved him, he was free to tell her the truth about his own feelings in return.  They could rebuild from there, and by the time they finished repairing their relationship, no one would even be able to see the cracks.

Belle exploded out of her chair, nearly knocking it over in the process.  “Don’t you _dare_ patronize me!” she snarled.

“ _Patronize_ you?” he repeated.  This was the last reaction that he’d expected.  “I’m not patronizing you, I—“

“You’re telling me what you think I want to hear because you think it’ll get you out of the doghouse,” Belle accused, her blue eyes flashing fire.  “It’s not going to work.  You’ve been _very_ clear about how you feel about me.”

Despite his instincts telling him to stand up and challenge her on level ground, Gold remained in his chair and dipped his head, indicating submission with his posture.  “I’ve loved you from the start.  I was just too much of a fool to realize it, and once I did, I was too much of a fool to tell you.”

If he’d known that she would welcome his words, he would have told her he loved her a thousand times a day.  Instead, he’d remained stubbornly silent, and now, when it mattered most, Belle refused to believe him.  He had no one to blame for this but himself.

“If you loved me, you _never_ would have done what you did last night.”  Belle shook her head as she slowly regained her seat.  Instead of remaining in the position of physical superiority, she was meeting him on an equal level, and Gold chose to consider that a good sign despite all evidence to the contrary.

Her voice was brutally calm.  “You loved Milah, and you let her go.  You loved Bae, and you let him go,” she reminded him.  

“If you loved me, you would have let me carry on with my lover at the cabin.  That’s what you do, isn’t it, Diarmid?” she asked, not unkindly.  “You let the people you love walk all over you.  That’s not what you did with me.”

If her words weren’t true, they wouldn’t have hurt.  He’d been a doormat for Milah, and she’d taken great pleasure in leaving heel prints on his face.  If that was the yardstick Belle was using to measure his love, no wonder she found his feelings for her severely lacking.

“I let Milah go, and I lost her.  I let Bae go, and I lost him.”  Gold forced the words out, reframing Belle’s argument for her.  “I couldn’t lose you, Belle.  Instead of letting you go, I held on too tight, and that was just as big of a mistake.  What I did was horrible, but it came from a place of love.”

Even as he said the words, Gold realized that they weren’t quite accurate.  His twisted, ugly behavior owed little to love and everything to his own insecurities screaming that the only way he could keep Belle was by caging her.  If she chose to forgive him, he would have to do better from this point on.  Never again could he allow his own dark side to hurt her.

“Please respect me enough to be honest with me.”  Belle folded her hands neatly in front of her.  “I knew you didn’t love me, and I married you anyway.  It wasn’t a deal breaker for me.”

Gold took a deep breath and swallowed down his protests.  He knew the truth of his feelings for her, but Belle was clearly in no mood to hear him out.  Pressuring her to believe him would only alienate her further and was completely unnecessary to boot.  He had the rest of his life to convince her that he loved her.

Belle brushed her hand over her tablet.  “I’ve been making a list.  I want to renegotiate the terms of our marriage.”

Since negotiation was his specialty, Gold should have felt that he was on firmer footing.  Instead, a feeling of dread was creeping up on him.  Whatever she was about to say, he would have bet every cent he had that he wouldn’t like it.

The first step of negotiating was to understand the other person’s position.  “By all means, state your terms.”

“I want my own bedroom,” she began, ticking off her demands on her fingers.  “I will continue to eat with you, attend business dinners with you, and fulfill all the expectations of a society wife, but that is where our relationship ends.  In public, I’ll be your wife.  In private, we will be nothing more than platonic friends.”

It was even worse than he’d feared.  

“If you want me to get a job and pay for my own expenses, I’ll be happy to do so, but you’ll continue paying for Dad’s care, and you _will not_ involve him or Dove in our relationship.  I will not object if you choose to take a lover as long as you are discreet, and I expect the same consideration from you.  Your private life is your business, and my private life is mine.”

Belle raised a challenging eyebrow at him, clearly waiting for him to respond, and it was all Gold could do to remember how to talk.

“No.”

“No?” she repeated, her voice dangerous.

“No.”  He threw his hands wide, beseeching the heavens.  “You’re giving up on us.  If we do what you want, we’re not even trying to fix the cup.  You love me, and whether you believe it or not, I love you.  We can fix this if we try, but you have to meet me halfway.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” Belle reminded him.  

“I chose my words poorly, but you know what I mean,” he shot back.  “If you don’t want to sleep with me, fine.  If you need space, I’ll give it to you, but I will never accept a marriage that’s just for show.  That’s not what I want, and I refuse to believe it’s what you want either.”

Belle wanted a fairytale happily ever after, and although Gold still didn’t believe such a thing existed, the least he could do was try to give it to her.  They’d been happy once, and they could be happy again, but they would never get there if they didn’t try to repair their relationship.

Belle sighed, looking down at the table.  “You refuse to agree to my terms?”

“I’ll never agree.”  Even if she’d given up on them, he never would.  If he had to, Gold would go to his grave still trying to rebuild their marriage.  

“Then you leave me no choice,” she said softly, not looking up.  “I’m going to divorce you.”

Gold made an extraordinary noise, feeling like he’d taken a blow to the chest.  “What?” he rasped.

Belle lifted her head.  “I’m divorcing you,” she repeated, sounding more confident the second time.  “I’ll start looking for a lawyer tomorrow unless you’d like to recommend one.”

She looked at him curiously, apparently expecting him to offer up the name and number of a divorce lawyer, and all Gold could do was gape at her.  “You can’t be serious,” he stammered.  “The prenup… You can’t have forgotten about the prenup.  If you divorce me, you’ll lose everything— the car, Dove— You’ll be left with nothing.”

“I don’t care,” she said simply.  “I took care of Dad by myself once, and I can do it again.  I’d rather have nothing than spend the rest of my life walking on eggshells wondering when you’re going to take something the wrong way and put me on house arrest.  I can’t live with a man who sees me as his inferior, something to punish when I misbehave.”

“That’s not how I see you,” he pleaded, aware that she’d never believe him.  Words were cheap.  His actions last night had told her that was _exactly_ how he thought of her— an inferior, a pet to be pampered when she pleased him and punished when she did not.

He was a fool.

Thanks to the terms of their prenuptial agreement, if she divorced him, Belle would be right back where she started, only this time her position would be even more tenuous because she had neither her job nor her slum of an apartment.  While she could sell the jewelry and designer clothing she’d acquired over the last few months, that money wouldn’t take her far.  In less than no time, she would be working herself to the bone again and worrying obsessively that Moe would hurt himself when she wasn’t available to watch him.

All the progress that Moe had made with Dove would unravel when he lost his full time caretaker.  Belle would try to continue his therapy and enrichment activities, but she didn’t have the training that Dove did, and the bulk of her time would be devoted to working in order to keep a roof over her father’s head and food in his mouth.

Moe wasn’t the only one would would suffer.  It hurt Gold’s heart to think of Belle as she used to be—undernourished, under so much stress that she practically vibrated with it.  Any of her own medical issues would go untreated for lack of time and money, and the only escape she would have from her life of squalor was the snatched minutes she spent reading library books and dreaming of a better world.

He’d vowed to give her that better world.  And after only four months, Belle was willing to give up all of the comfort and money just because she couldn’t bear to be his wife for another day.

He’d ruined everything.  What could have been a blissfully happy marriage was over because he’d let his insecurities run rampant.  There would be no fixing the cup.  Like his heart, it was irrevocably broken.

He might be broken, but there was no reason he had to break Belle in the process.  He’d promised her a comfortable life, and he could still give it to her.  Even if she wanted no part of him, there was one final gift he could bestow.  He would give it to her, even if it destroyed him.

“You’re not going to divorce me.”

He could see her nails bite into the wooden table.  “Oh really?” Belle asked, her voice deadly.  “And why is that?”

Gold swallowed hard and forced himself to speak the words that would damn him and set her free.  “Because I’m going to divorce you.”


	33. Chapter 33

Belle’s mask of steely determination cracked when Gold announced his plan to divorce her, her lips parting softly in surprise as her eyes narrowed in confusion.  “That doesn’t make any sense.  We revised the prenup, remember?  If you divorce me, you have to pay alimony.”

“If I divorce you, I have to give you a quarter of a million dollars a year in maintenance, continue to cover all of your father’s medical expenses, and buy you the property of your choice.”  He could remember the details of the addendum like he’d signed it yesterday.  

“You could go back to Boston or home to Australia,” he suggested, his heart cracking at the thought.  To have Belle on the other side of the world would be torture, but if it was what she wanted, he wouldn’t protest.  He deserved to lose her after what he’d done.

Belle shook her head.  “That doesn’t make _any_ sense,” she repeated.  “I’m offering to walk away, no strings attached.”

“When I proposed to you, I offered you support for your father and a life of comfort in exchange for your companionship.  You did everything I asked of you and more.  Our marriage failed because I failed you.  It isn’t right that you should lose everything when you upheld your end of the deal.”  Belle didn’t want words of love from him, so he phrased his reasoning in terms of business, hoping that logic would see him through.

“So, you’re offering me a severance package?  Because I excelled at my wifely duties?”  Belle said the words like they left a bad taste in her mouth.

“I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”  It was a cold-blooded summation of the situation, but if he allowed himself to feel any of the emotions involved, Gold would never get through this conversation without tears.

“No.”  Belle sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

“No?”  She couldn’t really be refusing to accept his terms, could she?  It would be the height of foolishness to do so since she had everything to gain and absolutely nothing to lose.

“No.  You’re undercutting your own side of the negotiation, and I want to know why.  This isn’t how you do business.  What happened to the ruthless Diarmid Gold?”

Gold had been asking himself that question for months, and the answer had been staring him in the face the entire time—he’d fallen in love.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the answer Belle wanted to hear, so he groped for another explanation for his out-of-character behavior.  “Consider it a bonus for finding my son.”

Belle might not believe that he loved her, but she knew he loved Bae.  Let her think his gratitude had inspired him to be generous.  As he watched her digest his words, he resisted the urge to tug on his tie, the room suddenly airless.

When she didn’t immediately respond, he rose from his chair.  “If you’ll excuse me, I should call Midas and alert him to the new developments.”

He was running away, Gold admitted to himself as he retreated to the safety of his office.  It was simply too difficult to sit across the table from Belle and negotiate the dissolution of their marriage, knowing that if he hadn’t let his insecurities drip their poison into his soul, all of this could have been avoided.  He could have had everything—a happy marriage and his son—if he’d just trusted Belle enough to tell her the truth.

Gold collapsed into his desk chair and yanked his tie loose, sucking in breath after breath, his throat burning.  He’d come so very _very_ close to the happily ever after he didn’t believe possible, only he hadn’t realized it until it was too late.

At least he still had Bae, he comforted himself.  He would devote himself to his son and his new family, and in time, they could rebuild what they’d lost twenty-five years ago.  Like the broken cup, the cracks would always show, but with enough effort, they would make it whole again.

If only he could say the same about his marriage.

Feeling like a man approaching the gallows, Gold picked up the phone and started to dial, trying to figure out what he was going to tell his lawyer.  Despite his best efforts, Midas hadn’t yet straightened out Belle and Moe’s citizenship, and the divorce was only going to add another layer of complexity to the issue.

Well, that was why he was paying the man.  He’d just shove the entire mess into Midas’s lap and let the lawyer figure it out.  Perhaps he’d have him take a look at Milah as well.  Surely she’d broken some kind of law by continuing to accept child support for a child who’d disappeared at age sixteen.  

The phone rang once, just as his office door opened.  “Wait.”

At the sound of Belle’s voice, he hung up the receiver.  “Yes?”

It was too much to hope that in the last ten minutes she’d miraculously changed her mind about their impending divorce, but he couldn’t stop his heart from leaping when Belle slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.  For a moment, she leaned back against it like it was the only thing holding her up, then she crossed to sit on the sofa, her upper body angled toward him.

“You’re letting me go.”

His tentative hopes collapsed.  She hadn’t changed her mind.  She just wanted to make sure he was really going to uphold his end of the bargain.  “I’m letting you go,” he confirmed.  “I was just about to call Midas.”

“ _Why_?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Gold braced his hands against his desk, fighting the urge to go to her.  Belle, who’d been so confident in the kitchen, sounded broken, and all he wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms.  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Earlier… you said that you loved me.”  Her uncertain tone made it sound like a question.

Gold felt a flare of uncharacteristic optimism and tried not to let it show on his face.  If Belle was willing to open this particular can of worms, perhaps she hadn’t completely dismissed his confession.  “I said it, and I meant it.  I love you, Belle.”

“You told me that you don’t believe in love.  You made that _very_ clear,” she challenged.

“I’ve said a lot of stupid things over the last six months,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between thumb and forefinger.  The slight pain allowed him to focus.  

“Every time I’ve allowed myself to care about someone, I’ve gotten hurt,” he began, trying to keep any trace of emotion out of his voice.  He wanted Belle’s understanding, not her pity.

“My father made sure I knew that he resented my existence.  If my mother could have found a way to abandon me before I was born, she would have.  As it was, she left when I was three days old.  You know what happened with Milah.  Losing Bae was the last straw.  After that, I closed myself down and refused to care about anyone.”  In trying to protect himself, he’d inadvertently shut out anything that might have given his life meaning until Belle had walked through the wall he’d built around his heart like it wasn’t even there.

“I didn’t _want_ to love you,” he told her, noticing her almost imperceptible flinch.  “I told myself I was being smart by protecting myself, but in truth, I was being a coward.  I was afraid of being hurt again.”

He’d been so afraid of allowing himself to be hurt that he hadn’t even noticed that he was hurting Belle.  Gold wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to forgive himself for that.

“I knew that,” Belle said softly.  “I mean, I didn’t know about your parents, but I knew that what happened with Milah and Bae had made you wary.  I didn’t hold it against you.  I just wished I could show you that love didn’t have to hurt.  I wanted to make you happy.”

“You did.”  Even before she’d given Bae back to him, Belle had made him happy.  She’d brought light back into his life and taught him how to laugh again.  She’d reminded him how good it felt to have someone who was on his side.  He hadn’t had that since Bae.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you.  I didn’t realize it until you got sick, and I didn’t exactly take it well.”  If only he’d had the sense to tell her then.

“I’m sorry,” Belle murmured.

In spite of everything, Gold chuckled.  “For what?  Being so wonderful that even my black heart couldn’t resist you?”

Belle sat up a little straighter, her eyes flashing.  “Your heart isn’t black.  Just… well-armored.”

That she could defend him, even after everything they’d been through, was touching.  “I suppose from that point on, I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  And when you started behaving so suspiciously, I assumed the worst instead of trusting you.”

Belle’s shoulders drooped.  “I really thought I was covering my tracks.  If I’d known you knew I was up to something…  I’m sorry, Diarmid.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing?” he asked curiously.  Belle knew enough about his past to know that he wasn’t the sort of man who enjoyed surprises.  While her actions weren’t in the same league as his reprehensible behavior, he wasn’t the only one who’d made mistakes.

“I should have.  In hindsight, I can’t believe I didn’t.  I just… I didn’t want to get your hopes up only to break your heart.  I thought that if I couldn’t find Bae or if I _did_ find him and he didn’t want anything to do with you, it would only make you feel worse.  I was trying to protect you, but I just hurt you.”  She pressed her lips together like she was trying not to cry.

In all his life, Gold couldn’t remember anyone ever trying to shield him from pain.  “Oh,” he managed, his throat so tight that he could say nothing more.

“At first, I thought I’d never find him.  I searched every variation of his first and middle name with your name, Milah’s name, Killian’s name… everything I could think of, and I came up with nothing.  I posted about our marriage and how we were trying to get in touch with your long-lost son, and I just got a bunch of cranks.  Then this guy sent me a message…”  Belle shook her head.

“He told me that he had been born Baden Gold, but he’d legally changed his name to August Booth, and he knew a lot about you…  I thought I’d meet with him first, just to be sure.  We had lunch, and he seemed nice.  He kind of looked like you, and I thought ‘This is it.  I found Bae.’  Then at the end of the meal he started telling me how he was in debt and really struggling and I realized he wanted me to give him money.”

Belle shrugged.  “He got really pushy when I told him that I had to think about it, and it just felt _wrong_ , you know?  It didn’t seem like something the real Bae would do.  I confronted him about it, and he eventually admitted it was a scam.”

Her smile was bitter.  “I almost gave up after that.  And I was so glad I hadn’t told you what I was doing.  If _I_ was that disappointed, I could only imagine how devastated you would have been.”

No wonder she’d been so upset that he’d suggested August was her lover.  Gold bit back a few choice words at the man who’d tried to dupe his wife by preying on her good intentions.  

“Neal wrote to me a few weeks later.  I guess he and August used to be close; that’s how August knew all the personal information.  It took me a long time to believe he was who he said he was.  It helped that he was as wary of me as I was of him.”  

Belle gave him a pleading look.  “When you told me you were going out of town, it seemed like the perfect opening.  I could make sure he really was Bae, and he could see the house and meet me and Dad and Dove and see what your life was like now.  Then, if everything went well, he could reach out to you directly.”

Gold felt numb as Belle revealed just how much effort she’d put into her search.  For months, she’d been working tirelessly behind the scenes to reunite him with his son.  She’d dealt with con artists, her hopes leaping with every new contact only to be dashed when it became clear that she was being taken for a ride.  She’d been on an emotional roller coaster for months, and he’d been oblivious to all of it.

“I didn’t want to say too much, but I told him that you loved him and missed him and wanted a relationship.  I showed him around the house so he could get a sense of your life and let him meet Dad and Dove.  I told him some stories about how kind you were to me because he seemed to have a really low opinion of you for some reason.”

Gold nodded ruefully.  “It seems Milah told him that I’d shipped him off to California because I didn’t want him any more.”

“ _What_?”  Belle looked guiltily over her shoulder, clearly hoping that her shout hadn’t disturbed Moe.  Fortunately, the upstairs remained quiet.

It seemed Bae hadn’t shared his version of their history with Belle.  “Apparently my ex-wife is even more duplicitous than I believed.  She told me that Bae wouldn’t come to the phone and him that I wasn’t calling.  She told him that I gave him up and me that he wanted Killian to adopt him.  And apparently he never saw a dime of the child support I paid or got any of the gifts and letters I sent him.”

“My god…” Belle muttered, sounding shell-shocked.  “That explains a lot.”

“Yes, doesn’t it?  Considering what he thought of me, I’m shocked you were able to convince him to meet with me at all.”  In another life, Belle would have made a fine businesswoman, or perhaps, a private investigator.

“I didn’t,” Belle admitted.

“Excuse me?”

“I got Neal to agree to meet with _me_ , not you.  That’s why I didn’t just tell you I was at the cabin with Bae when you thought I was cheating.  He told me that he wasn’t ready to see you.  The only reason he agreed to come to Storybrooke was because you were supposed to be in Boston.”  Belle bit her lip.  “I guess I should have just come right out and said that last night, but I was too busy panicking to think clearly.”

Gold buried his face in his hands, feeling nauseous.  Last night, Belle had deliberately not defended herself because she’d been trying to protect Bae.  She’d put his son’s best interests ahead of her own, and he’d repaid her by calling her a whore, threatening her, and stranding her on the beach.

“When I realized you were actually going to leave me on the beach and go to the cabin, I knew I should have spoken up, but it was too late.  I’m guessing you didn’t hear me yelling at you.”  

He’d heard her shouting after him as he drove away but hadn’t bothered to try to make out her words.  He’d just assumed she was venting her anger.  Instead, she’d been trying to prevent him from making a colossal mistake.  “Belle, I’m _sorry_.”

Belle drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them as she curled herself into a ball.  She lowered her head, hiding her face from him, but she couldn’t conceal the way her shoulders had started to shake.  Horror filled Gold when he realized she was crying.

She didn’t want him near her, but he couldn’t stay still.  “Belle…” he murmured as he rose from his chair to limp nearer to her, wanting nothing more than to drop to his knees at her side and wrap his arms around her, shielding her from the world.

Belle was unlikely to take comfort in his embrace, so he settled for claiming the other end of the couch for himself, hoping that he was far enough away that she wouldn’t feel threatened by him.  “Belle, please don’t cry.”

“How could you do that?” she demanded, lifting a tear-stained face to him.  “If you love me, how could you do that?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he told her roughly.  “I was terrified of losing you, so I tried to lock you up and keep you for myself.”

When she sobbed, Gold’s stomach lurched.  “Belle, did something… did something happen?  At the beach?”

He’d returned to find her sitting in her car where he’d left her, and he’d assumed that the intervening time had been uneventful.  If he was wrong… if something had happened to her in his absence…

“No.  No, nothing happened,” she dismissed, allowing him to again draw a full breath.

“It’s not what you _did_ , so much.  It’s that…”  She trailed off, waving her hands vaguely for a moment before she took a deep breath and tried again.  “I was helpless.  Not because you took my keys but because you reminded me that you hold all the cards.”

That was exactly what he’d meant to do, but hearing that he’d succeeded only made him feel sick.  “Go on.”

Belle wiped her face and uncurled slightly.  “This is your house.  I’m living on your money.  If you decide to take away my tablet and phone or my car or my freedom, I have no recourse.  You could refuse to let me leave the house without a chaperone or tell me how to dress and do my hair or force me to go down on you while Cora watches.  I’m not your wife.  I’m your _property_.”

She pinned him with a bloodshot gaze.  “I’ve been poor.  I’ve been desperate.  But I’ve _never_ been powerless.  And I don’t like how that feels.”

“I wouldn’t—“ he hastened to assure her, cutting himself off.  Last night, he’d proven that he would do exactly as she feared.  

“I don’t know what to say,” he confessed.  “I’d like to tell you that I never would have followed through on the threats I made, but I’m honestly not sure what I would have done.  I _hope_ I’m a better person than that, but I fear that I’m not.  If I can’t trust myself, I can’t blame you for not trusting me.”

Not long ago, Belle had had complete faith in him, and it turned his stomach to realize that he was the one who’d taught her that he couldn’t be trusted. Trust had been the bedrock of their marriage, and he’d cracked it.

“I don’t want a divorce, but I don’t know another way to make this right,” he confessed.  “I want you to feel safe.  I want you to have everything you need.  I want you to be _happy_.  I’ve always wanted that.  In hindsight, I should have realized what that meant.”

How different things could have been if he hadn’t been so blinded by his own fears that he couldn’t recognize love when he saw it.  “I wanted to be the one who made you happy.  I’m sorry that I didn’t do a better job of it.”

“You _did_ make me happy,” Belle whispered.  “That’s one of the reasons I was so determined to find Bae.  You made me so happy that I wanted to make you happy too.  I’m glad you have him back.”

She rested her head on her knees.  “God, what have we done to ourselves?”

“Belle, please… How can I fix this?  There has to be something I can do.  What would make this better?”  Gold’s mind was racing as he searched for an answer to his own question.  If Belle felt powerless because he held all of the cards in their relationship, there had to be a way to put them on even footing.  Only then could they begin to mend things.

“I don’t know.”  Belle, always so positive, sounded hopeless.

The germ of an idea was taking root in Gold’s mind—a risky idea.  That didn’t frighten him as much as it would have yesterday.  He’d spent twenty-five years protecting himself, and it had brought him nothing but heartbreak.  Had he risked confronting Bae over his desire to be adopted by Killian, he never would have lost his son.  He could be brave if it meant not making the same mistakes with Belle.

Even so, his mouth was dry when he spoke again.  “Tell me the truth.  If we’d met as equals, if you weren’t dependent on me, would we be getting divorced?”

Belle bit her bottom lip, her eyes going unfocused as she considered his question.  “You’d be sleeping in your office for a while, and I’d probably insist on marriage counseling, but… no.  What you did isn’t unforgivable, given what I know about your past.”

If it was the disparity of power in their relationship that was the heart of the problem and not that Belle couldn’t bear to be near him, that problem could be solved. If he was making a mistake, it would cost him dearly, but as far as Gold was concerned, it was a risk worth taking.  If given a choice between his money and his wife, his answer was obvious.

“Where are you going?” Belle asked as he pushed himself off the couch.

“Not far,” he assured her, proving his point when he moved no farther away than his desk.  An hour ago, he’d sat here readying himself to call Midas and put an end to his marriage.  Now, he had hope that they could repair the cup after all.  If it still had some cracks, they’d figure out how to live with them.

“I’m going to call Midas,” he announced, hoping that Belle would approve of his plan.  “I think it’s high time we made some revisions to that damned prenup.”


	34. Chapter 34

As Gold picked up the phone, Belle scrambled off the couch.  “What do you mean?  What do you want to do to the prenup?”

It felt as though a thousand pound weight had been removed from his shoulders, leaving Gold feeling light and giddy.  He was doing the right thing.  He was saving his marriage.  “You’ll see.”

Midas picked up on the first ring.  “Did you just call?”

“I did.  Grab a pen.  You’ve got work to do,” he said jovially, aware that Belle was staring at him.

“Are you drunk?”

He ignored the lawyer’s accusation.  “I want to revise the prenup.  Can we do that?”

“It depends what you want to do,” Midas hedged.

“I want Belle to get everything.”

“Diarmid, what are you doing?” Belle asked, her tone urgent.  On the other end of the line, Midas made an odd noise.

“Excuse me?”

“If Belle divorces me, she gets everything—the house, the cars, the money, the business, _everything_.”  No one would be able to say that she was powerless in their relationship if she had the ability to take everything away from him at a whim.

“Are you _insane_?” Midas demanded.

“Diarmid, stop.  This isn’t what I want.”

Gold risked putting his hand on top of Belle’s.  “It’s all right now.  I’m fixing it.”

Belle yanked her hand away, her face blazing.  “You’re not _listening_ to me.  Again.”

Her angry words cut through his self-satisfied haze, and Gold ducked his head when he realized she was right.  His motives were more noble than they’d been at the beach, but he was still being high-handed and making decisions for Belle without consulting her.  Had he learned _nothing_ from this debacle?

Abashed, he spoke into the phone.  “I’ll call you back.  Don’t do anything yet.”

“I have no intentions of doing anything.  Call me when you’re done being an idiot,” Midas directed before hanging up on him.

Gold put the phone down and looked up into his wife’s furious eyes.  “I’m sorry.  I was making decisions for you again, wasn’t I?  Thank you for stopping me.”

Belle exhaled a long, slow breath, the ire on her face fading.  “It’s hard to stay mad at you when you say things like that,” she said ruefully.

“I want to do right by you.  I don’t want to be your lord and master, not really.  I’m just… used to it.”  He was accustomed to having an idea and immediately acting on it because in his line of work, he had to be decisive.  Belle, however, was his wife, not his business rival.  It would probably serve him well to remember that.

“Well, you did stop.  I appreciate that.”  Belle gave him a half-smile as she hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk.  “I guess that means you’re trainable.”

In spite of himself, Gold chuckled at the mental picture of Belle whacking him with a rolled-up newspaper when he misbehaved.  “I may be an old dog, but I’d like to think I’m still capable of learning new tricks.”

The humor in Belle’s face faded.  “You have to listen to me, Diarmid.  I don’t expect you to agree with everything I say, but you have to hear me out and take my wishes into consideration.  If you don’t, there’s no hope for us.”

“I can do that,” he vowed.  “I swear that I can.  I do care what you think.  I suppose that it looks like I don’t, but I do.  I think I just have a bad habit of assuming I already know what you’re thinking and proceeding accordingly.”

In jumping to conclusions, he’d almost destroyed everything, and he needed to break that particular bad habit as quickly as possible.  

“I suppose I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”  It hurt to admit that.  

“No, I don’t think you do,” Belle agreed, sounding more thoughtful than sad.  “We’re going to have to work on that.”

“I want to,” he hastened to assure her.  “I want to know everything about you.  I want to understand you, Belle.”

If the imbalance of power in their relationship was one major problem, his lack of understanding of the woman he’d married was the other.  He loved Belle, but he didn’t _know_ her, and that had to change.

“Then let’s start with this—I don’t want your money.”

When his first instinct was to argue with her, Gold mentally slapped himself upside the head.  When he proposed to Belle, he’d specifically suggested that she marry him for his money, and she’d accepted those terms.  Now that he knew she’d had feelings for him even then, it put a new spin on their entire relationship.

“You’re saying that you don’t want me to have Midas make those changes to the prenup,” he said slowly, repeating her statement in his own words to make sure that he’d understood her properly.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Belle agreed.

“I wanted to make those changes because you complained of feeling powerless.  The way it’s written now gives you very little recourse should I behave in a way you find unacceptable.  I thought that if we rewrote it to give you the upper hand, you wouldn’t have to feel helpless and trapped.”  It felt awkward to explain his reasoning so clearly.

“Oh!  Okay, that makes sense.”  From Belle’s reaction, she hadn’t fully understood what he was trying to accomplish, even though Gold thought it had been obvious.  Clearly, there was something to be said for explicit communication.

“If you did that, I’d still be trapped though.  I would _never_ be willing to take everything from you, so I would never be able to file for divorce.”  Her words caught him off guard.  In seeking to give her power, he would only have taken it away again, this time in a different way.

“I have to admit that I hoped you would never feel the need to divorce me,” he admitted.  “I just thought this was a way of putting us on equal footing by giving you an out that you could use at any time.  It would be a guarantee of my good behavior since you could take everything away from me if weren’t pleased with me.”  He’d broken Belle’s trust.  The least he could do was give her leverage.

“But it wouldn’t be putting us on _equal_ footing, would it?” Belle countered.  “It would be giving me the upper hand.  I don’t want to be able to take everything away from you with no notice any more than I like knowing that you can take everything away from me.  I don’t like being your inferior, but that doesn’t mean I want to be your superior either.”

That turned most of his plans for their immediate future upside down.  “Then what do you want?”

“I want to be your _wife_ ,” she said firmly.  “Your partner.  Your equal.”

They were on exactly the same page.  That had to be a good sign.  “I want that too.  I’m just not sure how I can make you feel that way.”

Belle gave him an exasperated look.  “You can’t ‘make me’ feel anything.  That’s not how this works.  You can’t wave a magic wand and fix everything.  It’s going to take time, and there’s no guarantee that things are going to work out.”

When she said it, the answer seemed painfully obvious.  The only way that Belle was going to feel like an equal partner in this relationship was if he treated her like one.  “I will gladly spend the rest of my life proving that I consider you my equal in every way if you’re willing to give me the chance to do so.  If you catch me slipping back into old habits, just hit me with a newspaper and tell me to stop.”

Belle smiled a little at his declaration.  “I don’t think the newspaper will be necessary.”

She had more faith in him than he had in himself.  “I do think we need to make some revisions to the prenup though.  They don’t have to be as dramatic as I proposed if that’s your wish.  Why don’t we change it to say that you’re entitled to the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in maintenance, the house, and Moe’s support no matter who files for divorce?  We can arrange for you to keep any assets acquired during the marriage as well— your car for instance.  Would that suit?”

“That seems fair,” Belle agreed to his relief, and Gold decided to push his luck.

“I also think you need some assets of your own.  For instance, an account that I can’t touch.  Would you let me do that for you?”  Midas would be able to figure out the paperwork to make that happen, and it would do Belle good to know that even if her husband completely lost his mind, she could have herself and her father on the other side of the world in a matter of hours.

“As long as you promise not to do anything crazy like transfer all your money to that account,” she warned.

“I promise,” he said obediently.  There was one more concession he needed to make, no matter how much it pained him.

Taking a deep breath, he forced the words out, “Would you feel better if you had a job?”

Belle raised her eyebrows.  “A job?”

“Earlier, when we were negotiating, you suggested that you get a job.  Is that something you want?  Would you like to have your own income and… sphere?”  Although Gold derived satisfaction from his work, he thought of it as a means to an end.  First, he’d worked long hours to provide for his family, and after he lost Bae, he’d devoted himself to his work because he had nothing else to do.  Belle might feel differently about the matter.  Many people derived a great deal of personal fulfillment from having a career, and if she felt that way, it wasn’t fair of him to deny her something she would enjoy.

“Do you want me to work?” she asked, answering his question with one of her own.

“If it would please you, I have no objections.”  It would raise eyebrows among his business associates, but at this point, their opinion couldn’t possibly mean less to him.  Belle was her own creature, and if having employment would make her feel happier or more secure, he would support her.  

Belle tapped her fingers lightly against her knee as she thought it over, then she shook her head.  “I can’t say that I _want_ to work.  When I pictured my future, I thought being a librarian was something I wouldn’t mind doing, but it’s not something that I felt called to do.  I don’t think I’m the kind of person who’s fulfilled by having a career.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart,” he assured her, trying not to let his pleasure at her decision show.

“I _would_ like to finish my degree though.  I like to finish what I start, and I’d feel better knowing that if I ever do need to get a job, I’m qualified to do something more than bartend.”  She gave him a small smile.  “You know, hope for the best and plan for the worst.”

“I think that’s wise.”  Much as he hoped she would never find it necessary to support herself, Gold couldn’t fault her logic, and he was highly in favor of anything that made her feel more secure.

“Is there anything else we can do to make this better?” he asked hesitantly.

Belle shook her head.  “I think it’s just going to take time.”

“Earlier, you mentioned counseling.  I’ll go if you want me to.”  The thought of revealing his deepest secrets to a stranger held no appeal for Gold, but if Belle made it a requirement, he wouldn’t protest.

“Do _you_ think you need to go to counseling?”  She gave him a piercing look.

His wife didn’t pull her punches.  The events of the past few days had revealed that he wasn’t dealing with his past nearly as well as he thought he was.  Gold pictured the impact of his history with his parents and with Milah as neatly healed scar tissue, but in truth, it seemed those wounds had never healed at all.  If he was the only one suffering, it would be one thing, but both Belle and Bae had paid a high price for his pain.  That wasn’t acceptable.

“I sincerely doubt that it would hurt.”

“I think it would do you good,” Belle said earnestly.  “The way you think about yourself… It’s not healthy.”

Gold frowned.  “What do you mean?”  He thought his ability to view himself honestly and without turning a blind eye to his many faults was a strength, not a weakness.

Belle rested a bare foot on the arm of his desk chair, lightly swiveling him from side to side.  “We spent months texting back and forth—playing chess and talking about books.  When Dad told you that I like a boy who lives in Maine, did it ever, for one second, occur to you that he was talking about you?”

“Sweetheart, I haven’t been a boy in about four decades.”  

His answer didn’t seem to impress her.  “Dad’s told you a dozen times that he thinks you’re a nice boy.  You _never_ made the connection?”

When she said it like that, it sounded obvious.  “Well, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”  Gold fluttered his hands, searching for words.  “Because I’m me, and you’re you.”

Belle raised an eyebrow.  “And that’s a problem because…?”

“Because I’m twice your age?  Because I’m a bitter old man?  Because I’m a cripple?  Belle, no one in my life has ever loved me.  You’re young and beautiful and smart and funny.  Why the _hell_ would you want me?”

“That is _exactly_ my point.”

Gold slumped back, feeling like she’d hit him in the chest.  Somehow, he hadn’t expected her to agree so easily to his unflattering description of himself.

“You never once thought that maybe I liked you because we have so much in common.  It never occurred to you that I found you attractive.  You never said to yourself, ‘I’m a witty, interesting, intelligent man.  Why wouldn’t she want me?’  You just decided that you’re unlovable and ran with it.”

Never had a series of beautiful compliments sounded so angry.  “In my defense, you never told me any of those things.  If you had feelings for me, why didn’t you say something?”

Belle folded her arms across her chest.  “Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that you took great pains to tell me how stupid and childish love is?”

“All right, that’s fair.  But you can’t deny that you were reluctant to marry me.”  It had taken a great deal of persuasion to convince Belle to promise herself to him.  What reason had she given him to think she cared for him?

“Of course I was!” she exploded.  Belle hopped off the desk to pace the room.  “I spent _months_ daydreaming about you.  Every time I had a bad day I’d fantasize that you’d just magically show up at the bar and tell me that you were madly in love with me.  You’d sweep me up on a white horse and take me away from everything, and we’d live happily ever after.”

She paused long enough to glare at him.  “But that’s not what happened, was it?  Oh sure, you asked me to marry you.   _For your money._  You spent an _hour_ making sure I understood that you didn’t love me and you never would!  Can you blame me for having my doubts?  At least if I married Greg, I knew I wouldn’t get hurt.”

Gold buried his face in his hands, her words shattering him.  “Oh my _god_ , Belle…”

He heard the couch groan as Belle flopped down on it.  “I didn’t want to marry you for your money.  I didn’t want to use you like that.  I wanted to marry you for love, but that wasn’t an option.  So, I told myself it would be okay.  You liked me.  You respected me.  You were nice to me and Dad.  I thought that was enough.  I could love you enough for both of us.”

“I am _so_ sorry,” he choked, afraid to look at her for fear that he’d cry.  Just hearing the pain in her voice was almost more than he could bear.

“It didn’t take me long to realize that I didn’t know you at all.  I was in love with the image of you I’d created in my head.  You’re a lot more complicated than I realized.  But… I kind of liked that.  I liked the idea that I was the only person who really knew you.  And the more I learned about you, the harder I fell for you.”

Gold risked lowering his hands to look at Belle, finding her with her head tilted back against the back of the sofa as she stared at the ceiling.  “Sometimes it was hard not to tell you.  You were so nice to me… so good with Dad.  So, I tried to show you instead, you know, be the perfect wife.  I took a page out of your book— love means putting the other person’s happiness first.  That’s why I wanted to find Bae so badly.  I knew that nothing would make you happier than having your son back.”

Finding Bae hadn’t just been the greatest gift anyone could ever give him, it had also been a declaration of love, and he’d thrown it back in her face.  “Belle, I’m sorry.  I’ve done everything wrong right from the start, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to you.”

Feeling as though he was approaching a wild animal, he moved to sit next to her on the couch.  “If I’d asked you about the boy from Maine months ago, would you have told me how you felt?”

Belle bit her lip as she considered the question.  “I think so.  I definitely wouldn’t have lied to you.  I might have downplayed it a bit though.”

If he’d only asked her about the boy when Moe first mentioned him, all of this could have been avoided.  “I’m an idiot.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me that you loved me?  Because you thought I was in love with someone else?”  

“I told myself that I was being considerate by not telling you.  I told myself that it would only make you uncomfortable and that it wouldn’t be fair to you to change the rules that we’d agreed upon.  But I was just being a coward.”  That was a running theme in his emotional life, and Gold hoped that the counselor could help him overcome his cowardice.  Far from protecting him, it had only made everything a thousand times worse.

“You were afraid that I’d take advantage of you.  Like Milah,” Belle suggested.

“No.”  On that point, at least, he could reassure her.  “I knew you were nothing like Milah.  I wasn’t afraid that you’d use my love against me, not really.  I just didn’t want your pity.”

“I would have been so happy,” Belle whispered.  “I wish you would have told me.”

“So do I,” he said, his voice rough.  If he’d just had the courage to be honest, the cup never would have been broken.

“Is it too late to say it now?” he asked softly.  

Belle rolled her head to the side to look at him.  “Try it and see.”

Heart in his throat, Gold made an abortive move to reach for her before letting his hand fall to the cushion between them.  Touching her at this point would be pushing far too hard.  “I love you, Belle.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he could see her body shudder.  When she opened her eyes again, they were glassy.  “I love you, Diarmid.”

As long as they had that, their marriage couldn’t be over.  Things weren’t fixed, not by a long shot, but they felt better.  With time and enough hard work, the broken cup could be mended.

“So, where do we go from here?” he murmured.  

He held his breath as Belle reached out and laced her fingers though his.  “We go forward.”


	35. Chapter 35

Gold folded the blanket before stowing it and his pillow neatly away in the closet, returning his office to its normal immaculate state.  The housekeeper would gladly have completed the small task for him, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to advertise the fact that he and his wife had been sleeping separately for the past week.  

If he was honest with himself, he would have to admit that there was absolutely no way that the housekeeper was unaware of the current developments, but he still tided up the office and downstairs bathroom every morning.  If nothing else, he was sending a strong message that he didn’t want to talk about it.

Sleeping in his office wasn’t ideal, but it was the best of bad options.  Belle had offered to move into one of the spare bedrooms, which would have been more practical.  The house was so massive that they were in no danger of running short of extra bedrooms even if someday Bae and Emma chose one of those rooms for themselves and another for the grandchild who would be arriving in a few months.  Additionally, Belle had accumulated only a few months worth of possessions as opposed to the twenty-five years of stuff Gold had stashed away in their shared bedroom.  It would be far easier to relocate her than it was for him to move.

Having Belle move out of their shared bedroom was the obvious course of action, but his wife had respected his request that she keep the room while he spent his nights in his office.  Gold told himself that Belle had had enough upheaval in her life lately without losing the bedroom she’d grown accustomed to, but he was aware that was only part of the reason for his aversion to the idea.

Maintaining separate bedrooms felt far too permanent for his comfort.  If they took that step, it would be too easy for both of them to get used to having their own space.  They’d be that much closer to becoming the roommates Belle had suggested they be during the darkest part of their marriage.  On the other hand, sleeping in his office was a temporary solution to a temporary problem.  As long as he was lying on his office couch, aware that upstairs Belle was comfortable in the bed they shared, he could feel like this was just a bump in the road, not a permanent change of course.

Gold would rather sleep in his office for months and believe that, in time, Belle would welcome him back to their room than spend a week alone in his bedroom feeling as though he’d been permanently banished from his wife’s side.  This way, he had hope.  Besides, his office couch was more comfortable than many of the beds he’d slept in over the years. If he was a taller man, there might have been an issue, but that was never going to be a problem for Gold.

They _were_ going to fix the broken cup, he vowed to himself.  He would accept nothing less.  If it took him until his dying breath to convince Belle that he considered her his equal in every way and would never again betray her trust, Gold would consider it a life well lived.

He went to his desk, taking a long look at the only outward sign of their strained relationship that he allowed to remain in his office during the housekeeper’s working hours.  On the day all the truths had come out, he’d gathered up the pieces of Belle’s broken teacup, and now they were arranged on a silver platter and protected by a glass cover.  Although he’d made an attempt to display them in something approaching their correct order, he’d made no move to reassemble them.  That would come later.

Right now, his marriage was in pieces, and the broken cup was his reminder of how hard he was going to have to work to repair it.  

Lightly, Gold brushed his fingers over the glass.  “We’ll fix it,” he murmured, saying the words for his own benefit.  Optimism wasn’t something that came naturally to him, but in this case, he needed to stay positive.

It helped to have something to do so he could feel that progress was being made.  Belle had told him that she needed time, but she’d given him little idea what she expected him to do to fill that time.  Perhaps that was the point.  She didn’t want a husband whom she had to micromanage into treating her well.  If he wanted to keep her, Gold would have to prove that he could be the husband she deserved without her writing him a daily script to follow.

It was a role reversal from the earliest days of their marriage when Belle had put a tremendous amount of effort into being the perfect wife for him, fretting about everything from her hair and wardrobe to how she modulated her voice.  Until now, Gold hadn’t appreciated how much of a strain it had been on her.  

Being the perfect husband was _exhausting_.

It started with his tie.  Belle had ceded the duty of choosing his tie for him, leaving Gold on his own to try to decide which of his vast collection she would most enjoy seeing him wear.  Based on the ties she’d chosen for him over the last few months, he was reasonably sure that he knew her preferences, but if the last week had taught him anything, it was that he was wrong about a great many things that he’d been sure of.

He thought the blue paisley tie was Belle’s favorite based on how many times she’d selected it for him to wear, but it was possible that she gravitated to that one because she knew blue was his favorite color.  Belle herself was fond of yellow, but when it came to ties in that color, his options were few.  Yellow wasn’t a flattering color on him.

Should he buy more yellow ties in an attempt to please her by proving he cared about her preferences or would she consider him vain if he brought home another bag of ties that cost more than she’d made in a week at the Griffith?  Either decision seemed to have its pitfalls.

The tie situation was even more frustrating than it would have been otherwise because the one thing Belle had actually asked him to do was proceeding at a glacial pace.  Apparently, there was more to finding a therapist than there was to selecting a new tie.  It had taken him several days to find one within a reasonable driving distance who seemed to be both a good fit for his needs and also willing to provide both individual and marriage counseling.  Belle had suggested that he choose someone who specialized in working with adult victims of child abuse, which he thought was an overly dramatic take on his past, but it couldn’t hurt to humor her.  The worst that could happen would be that the therapist told him to stop whining and just consider himself lucky that his father had never raised a hand to him.  His childhood had been unpleasant, but it could have been so much worse.

His first session had been two days ago, and far from a grueling exploration of his tortured soul, Archie Hopper had done nothing more than take a detailed inventory of his personal history before asking him what his goal for therapy was.

The question had given him pause.  Gold had every intention of being open and honest with the therapist– otherwise this exercise would be pointless– but announcing that he’d destroyed every single relationship that had ever meant anything to him and that he needed to learn how to be a decent human being before he lost his wife and son for good felt a little _too_ honest.  Looking back on the session, he couldn’t even remember what he’d actually said.  He was fairly sure he’d babbled something about wanting healthier personal relationships, which was a start.  It certainly wasn’t _untrue_.

He didn’t really expect a single session to fix whatever was broken inside of him, but he’d hoped to have a little more progress to show Belle.  For her part, his wife had seemed neither surprised nor disappointed by his description of the appointment.  She’d simply predicted that in the future he would find his sessions more enlightening.  That was probably true.  Belle seemed to have a habit of being right about things.  Still, it would be nice to get some forward momentum going.

In the meantime, Gold did what he could to demonstrate that he was capable of being the man she deserved.  He and Moe had recently progressed past endless rounds of Battleship to try other games, and Gold was careful to let him win while still making the game look and feel competitive.  He’d also given the other man an assortment of new tools in lieu of an apology.  Considering how Moe’s mind worked, telling him that he was sorry for involving him in his marital issues and using his innocent words against Belle would distress Moe far more than not receiving an apology that he didn’t realize he was entitled to.

Dove, on the other hand, had graciously accepted both Gold’s formal apology and the raise he’d been offered.  The big man more than deserved it.

Over the past week, he and Belle had reached a tacit agreement that they wouldn’t let the current state of their relationship affect her father.  Since he started doing therapy with Dove, Moe had become slightly more adaptable, but any change to his schedule or environment was always risky.  Besides, Moe currently thought that Gold was a nice boy, and he had no desire to jeopardize his father-in-law’s good opinion of him.

In an effort to maintain a sense of normalcy for Moe, Belle had decided to continue one of her self-appointed wifely duties.  When Gold joined the others in the kitchen for breakfast, his wife greeted him with a smile and his standard breakfast of toast and coffee.

One look at his plate told Gold that he was still in the doghouse.  Since the day she moved in, Belle had delighted in teasing him about his austere morning meal.  Now, she was making her point in a different way.  On Tuesday, she’d presented him with toast spread with strawberry jam instead of orange marmalade.  Yesterday, it had been peanut butter.  Today, his toast was adorned with a sticky white substance that looked distressingly like marshmallow fluff.

Careful not to let a hint of distaste show on his face, Gold lifted the toast to his mouth and took a bite, trying not to wince when the sickeningly sweet substance coated his tongue.  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

If this was the form Belle’s punishment took, he would gladly pay her price.  There were far worse consequences she could enact for his terrible behavior beyond requiring him to eat revolting foodstuffs.

Although knowing Belle, this probably wasn’t a punishment at all.  Much like the broken cup, there was almost certainly some lesson that he was meant to be learning here, and Belle was trusting that he was smart enough to work it out for himself instead of needing her to spell it out for him.  

Gold took a meditative bite of marshmallow fluff on toast as he thought it over.  The pair of them had taken great pleasure in teasing each other about their respective palates, but he doubted that this was an object lesson in learning to appreciate processed foods.  It had to be more meaningful than that.

Perhaps something about the importance of appreciating what he had?  In comparison to marshmallow fluff, orange marmalade was going to taste like ambrosia from the gods if Belle spread it on his toast tomorrow.

Or maybe she was trying to teach him a lesson about the importance of flexibility.  Gold liked things a certain way, and he freely admitted that he could be a bit rigid.  Belle could be trying to show him that it was important to leave the box he’d defined for himself.  Marshmallow fluff was disgusting, but the strawberry jam hadn’t been half bad.  Had he not strayed from the straight and narrow path of orange marmalade, he never would have learned either of those things.  

The lesson could translate to all the areas of his life.  He couldn’t keep doing what he’d always done because his life was different now.  More than having to change, Gold _wanted_ to change.  It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of happiness that he realized just how miserable he’d really been.

The revelation of the lesson didn’t actually make the marshmallow fluff taste any better, but he couldn’t imagine that a piece of toast had ever been more meaningful.  His wife was truly brilliant.

Belle sat opposite him at the table, not looking entirely pleased as she watched him eat his toast.  Gold, not sure what he’d done wrong, tried smiling at her.  “It’s delicious.  Thank you.”

If anything, she only looked more unhappy at that, but she waited until after Moe and Dove left the kitchen to start their day before she said anything.  “I can’t believe you ate that.”

Gold gave his empty plate a wary look.  “Was I not supposed to?  You made it for me.”

Belle raised her eyebrows.  “It had marshmallow fluff on it.”

“Yes.  I noticed.”

“And you ate it.”

“I did, yes.”  That was the point, wasn’t it?  Belle would hardly hand him a piece of toast and expect him to just sit there and stare at it.

“And you said it was _delicious_.”  There was a note of challenge in her voice.

Finally, he saw the problem: Belle thought he was being dishonest with her.  “I thought it best to be diplomatic with your father sitting there.  I didn’t think of it as lying.  And I do appreciate the lesson you’re trying to teach me even if I don’t care for marshmallow fluff.”

Belle’s face was blank.  “Lesson?  What lesson?”

“You’re trying to teach me a lesson about the importance of being flexible and trying new things.  Sometimes those risks are successful, like the strawberry jam, and sometimes they’re not, like the marshmallow fluff, but I won’t know until I try.  I can’t stick to my rigid way of life and expect things to improve.  I have to put myself out there and risk exposing myself to unpleasant experiences because if I don’t, I’ll never find new things that make me happy.”  Gold beamed proudly at his wife who was staring at him, open-mouthed.

“You got all of that from _toast_?”

Her disbelieving tone made it clear that he’d gotten it wrong again, and the bubble of pride that had filled his chest collapsed.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.  I missed your point, didn’t I?  You were actually trying to teach me to appreciate what I have because it might not last.  I thought of that first, but it seemed too obvious.”

Belle made an extraordinary noise and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.  Gold was halfway out of his chair on his way to offer her comfort before he realized that she was laughing.

“Too obvious… oh, Diarmid.  The way your mind works… It’s not easy being you, is it?”  Underneath the laughter, her voice was fond.  

Based on Belle’s reaction, he’d gotten something very wrong, but there was so much warmth in her words that he found that he didn’t mind.  Still, Gold wanted to understand.  “What do you mean?”

“The way you analyze everything.  You think about everything from every possible angle and then you turn it inside out and think about it some more.”  Belle shook her head ruefully.  “Isn’t it exhausting?”

He’d never really considered it.  “I suppose I’m used to it.  I take it that I misunderstood the message you were trying to send me with the toast?”

“Oh, Diarmid.”  For a moment, Gold feared that Belle was about to cry.  “There was never any message.”

“Oh.”  If Belle hadn’t been trying to turn marshmallow fluff into a learning opportunity, he wasn’t sure that he liked the implications.   _Had_ she simply been punishing him?  That didn’t seem like something she would do.

Belle tapped her fingertips lightly against the table.  “Things have been so strained between us.  Surely you’ve noticed.  We’ve been walking on eggshells around each other.”

Gold had noticed that Belle had been more reserved over the last week, but he’d attributed the change to a justifiable wariness of him.  In response, he’d been careful to be on his best behavior, eager to prove that she had nothing to fear from him.  Somehow, he hadn’t realized that Belle was doing something similar.  “I was trying to demonstrate that I can be the man you deserve.”

“But I don’t want a Stepford husband who agrees with everything I say,” Belle protested.  “I want us to be able to disagree and still be okay.  I want us to be able to just relax together and be ourselves without worrying about making a good impression.  It’s too stressful to do otherwise.  That’s how I spent the first two months of our marriage, and it nearly gave me an ulcer.”

“I’m sorry,” Gold said automatically, hating the thought that Belle had spent their first months together being miserable.

“It’s not your fault.  I was putting all that pressure on myself.  You told me that you didn’t expect me to be perfect.  I just couldn’t seem to believe you.”  She gave him an embarrassed smile.  “I thought you might have the same problem, so I tried to show you that you didn’t have to be perfect instead.  Hence the toast.”

Try as he might, Gold didn’t see the connection.  “I don’t understand.”

“It’s something we’ve always been able to joke about,” she explained.  “I thought I’d give you toast with jam and you’d say something funny about it, and I’d tease you back, and the ice would be broken.  But you just _ate_ it.”

The strawberry jam was intended neither as a lesson nor a punishment.  Instead, it had been offered as an olive branch, one that Gold had ignored because he’d been too busy overanalyzing Belle’s motivations to recognize it for what it was.

“Then I thought maybe the joke was too subtle.  Strawberry jam isn’t that weird, and you’ve mentioned before that you might try it some day, so then I went with the peanut butter, but you ate that too.  Then I figured that marshmallow fluff was so ridiculous that you’d _have_ to say something, but you didn’t.”

For all that he spent too much time obsessing about minutia, it seemed that Belle had put nearly as much thought into the toast as he had.  It was another way they were a perfect fit, even if they weren’t quite on the same page when it came to communication.

“You were trying to break the ice, and I was too busy seeing signs and portents in toast to notice.”

Belle smiled a little.  “You give me far too much credit.  Maybe I don’t give you enough.  I was afraid that you were eating whatever disgusting thing I put in front of you because you were doing some kind of weird food-based penance.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted.

Belle’s face fell.  “Is that what you think?  With the separate bedrooms and all?  That I’m punishing you?”

“No.”  Although the thought had crossed his mind, it hadn’t taken Gold long to dismiss it.  He couldn’t say that he liked the new distance between them, but he knew Belle well enough to know that it didn’t come from a thirst for vengeance.

“You’re not punishing me.  You’re protecting yourself.”

Belle had allowed herself to be vulnerable in their marriage and she’d gotten hurt.  Gold couldn’t blame her for withdrawing from him.

Her eyes glistened.  “Yeah.  I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right.  That’s not really fair though.  You’re putting in a lot of effort to fix this.  The least I can do is meet you halfway.”

With a tremulous smile, she reached across the table to offer him her hand.  “How did your talk go with Neal last night?”

With Belle’s permission granted, Gold took his wife’s hand, running his thumb gently over her knuckles as he thought about the conversation he’d had with his son the previous evening.

Bae had agreed to a weekly phone call, but he insisted on being the one to do the actual calling.  After a childhood spent waiting for a call from his papa that never came, Gold could understand why he needed that measure of control.

“It went well,” he said after a moment’s deliberation.  It was true.  Bae wasn’t ready to trust him with his dearest hopes and darkest fears, but at least his boy was talking to him.

As he summarized the conversation for Belle, Gold felt a knot in his soul loosen.  Even during his marriage, he’d never had this.  Milah had had no interest in parenting and even less interest in sharing that experience with him.  Having Belle to share in his worries and joys about his reunion with his son woke something deep inside of him that he’d never been aware existed.  If sharing his prodigal son with Belle was this much of a pleasure, what would it be like to share a child of their own with her?

It was far too soon to think anything of the kind, and Gold reluctantly shelved the nascent fantasy.  Right now, he was simply grateful that his wife was willing to hold his hand.  Children were a _long_ way off.

“I thought about coming down to your office last night to see if you wanted to talk about it.”  Belle bit her lip.  “I wasn’t sure if I would be welcome.”

His chest ached at her softly voiced worry.  “Always.  Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, you are _always_ welcome.”

Belle’s eyes shone.  “Even if I’m bearing toast with marshmallow fluff?”

This time, Gold knew what to do.  “I’d rather you cover me in the stuff and introduce me to a colony of fire ants.”

Belle tightened her grip on his hand, her smile luminous.  “That’s more like it.”


	36. Chapter 36

Gold’s second therapy session wasn’t the walk in the park his first session had been.

He clenched his fingers around the steering wheel as he made the drive home, his eyes fixed on the road.  Through gritted teeth, he breathed shallowly, trying to keep his mind empty of anything save for the mechanics of driving.

With Dr. Hopper’s encouragement, he’d spent the session discussing his father, and after sharing the first few halting memories, it had been as though a dam burst.  Words had poured from his mouth with the intensity of a raging river, each admission leading to dozens more that he’d buried so deeply in the back of his mind that Gold himself had all but forgotten them.

He’d started with the small things, sharing tales of eating out of the garbage because his father couldn’t be bothered to feed him and enduring weeks of the silent treatment because he’d done something that enraged Malcolm, before moving on to the more painful memories.  When he paused for breath after describing the time his father had locked him in the basement for two days as punishment for waking him up when he had a hangover, Gold had glanced over at Hopper, and if he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the look on the therapist’s face.

Dr. Hopper, who specialized in helping victims of child abuse, looked _horrified_.

Abuse wasn’t a word Gold had ever associated with himself or his past, but it was the one Hopper had used right before he announced that he wanted to spend at least three months working with Gold one-on-one before they brought Belle in to begin marriage counseling.  He wondered how she would feel about that.

Hopper had warned him that he was likely to feel raw now that they’d begun the process of healing, but that didn’t begin to describe the state he found himself in.  Gold felt as though his skin had been stripped away, leaving him as nothing but a bundle of exposed nerves and an unprotected heart.  He felt weak and fragile, things that he’d spent decades ensuring that he would never have to feel again.  And Hopper expected him to dedicate _months_ to this?  He wouldn’t survive the process.

Rage made him grind his teeth.  Hopper was a crank.  He was _no one’s_ victim.  He was Diarmid Gold, and if he’d had a rough childhood, so what?  Plenty of people had lousy upbringings.  His past was just that—the past.  There was no point in dredging up all of this nonsense when he’d already moved past it.  He was rich and powerful and untouchable.  No one could hurt him.  

Gold focused on that thought, and by the time he made it home, he felt a little better.  At his next session, he would tell Hopper point-blank that he wouldn’t be doing any more spelunking through the dark caverns of his childhood.  The therapist could help him with his current problem or not at all.

Gold had expected Belle to already be upstairs when he came home, but to his surprise, his wife was stretched out on the couch in the living room, her tablet in hand.  The moment he closed the door behind him, she set the device aside and came to greet him.  “Welcome home.  How did it go?”

Her innocent question raked across his frayed nerves, and Gold had to clench his teeth to keep from snarling.  He needed more time to put himself back together and reassemble the armor that Dr. Hopper had dismantled.  Until he did that, he was an open wound and he needed everyone to stay well back.

“Fine,” he gritted out through his teeth.

“Fine?”  Belle’s eyebrows lifted.  “You look a little… It doesn’t matter.  Why don’t you sit down?  I’ll get you some tea, maybe rub your shoulders.  How does that sound?”

Her concern was more than he could endure.  Somehow, she knew that he was holding himself together with his fingernails, and that was unbearable.  The thought of anyone seeing him this vulnerable made him want to bite and claw, to drive everyone away so that no one could get close enough to inflict more pain.

“I said I’m _fine_!”  It took every bit of Gold’s self control not to roar.

Belle took a half-step back, and that tiny movement reached something deep inside of him that was more important than his primal need to protect himself.  He wasn’t driving away an enemy—this was _Belle_ , his wife, the woman he loved.  This was Belle he was pushing away, and that was exactly what he’d vowed never to do again.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out, his throat tight.  “I am… not fit company right now.  Excuse me.”

Gold could feel her gaze against his back as he made a hasty retreat.  Closing his office door behind him helped a little, and he didn’t bother to turn on a light as he looked around the familiar space, feeling as though he’d never seen it before.   _Abused_.  Hopper said he’d been abused, and he wasn’t sure if that word made him want to smash everything he owned or just lock the door behind him and never leave his office again.  It was safe here.

“Diarmid?”  Belle opened the door just enough to slip through it before closing it again.  “If you want me to go away, I will, but I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Gold ground his teeth against a surge of frustration.  He was trying to do the right thing and protect Belle from his foul mood, but she was ignoring every warning sign.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

For some reason, she seemed to take that as encouragement, moving further into the room to take a seat on the couch.  “That’s okay,” she assured him.  “You don’t have to.  You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

“Belle…” he pleaded, not even sure what he was asking for.

“If you need to yell, go ahead,” she encouraged.  “I won’t take it personally.”

“He said I was _abused_!”  The words were out before he realized he planned to say them, a broken cry.

Her expression didn’t change as she nodded.  “I know.”

Her quiet confirmation of Hopper’s diagnosis broke something within him, and he staggered.  Instantly, Belle was at his elbow, supporting him.  “Come sit down.”

Gold clenched his jaw so hard that he feared his teeth would crack as he allowed Belle to lead him to the couch.  At her urging, he sat down, staring straight ahead as she claimed the spot next to him, close enough to let him feel the warmth from her body.  He didn’t dare look at her.  If he moved a single muscle, he would cry, and and he couldn’t imagine that she wanted to deal with that.

“Just breathe,” Belle murmured, her fingers gentle as she stroked the back of his neck.  “You’re safe.  I’m here.”

“I am _not_ a victim,” he gritted out.  He didn’t care how many sets of initials followed Hopper’s name.  The doctor didn’t know _anything_ about Gold’s life.  

“Of course not,” Belle agreed instantly.  “You’re a survivor.”

With three words, she reframed the entire situation, shaping it into a form Gold could accept.  He was a survivor.  His father had abused him, but he’d been strong enough to survive and create a life for himself where no one could ever make him feel powerless again.

Except that wasn’t quite true.  A cold chill went down Gold’s spine as he questioned how Hopper would interpret his relationship with Milah.  She’d made him helpless, held him hostage by preying on his feelings for her, and in the end, she took everything away from him.

Just like he’d threatened to do to Belle.

He retched, his head swimming, and Belle grabbed his shoulder, coaxing him to lean over and put his head between his knees.  “Breathe… breathe…” she said urgently, using her free hand to rub his back.

Her gentle touch only made him feel worse.  After what he’d done to her, Belle was still at his side, trying to comfort him when, by rights, she shouldn’t want anything more to do with him.  

“What I did to you… It was…”  He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“It was a mistake that you are very sorry for and won’t make again,” Belle informed him, her voice firm.  “Don’t go there, Diarmid.  Don’t do that to yourself.  Not now.”

When a strangled sob rose in his throat, Belle wrapped her arms around him and scooted back, pulling him with her until he was lying in her lap.  “Let it out,” she coaxed.

His nose burned as he tried to swallow the tears, but there was no holding back the deluge.  Gold’s body shook as he sobbed, crying for the abused boy he’d been, the one who was still pulling the strings of the man he was today.  “I hate him,” he raged against Belle’s legs, not sure if he was talking about his father or himself.

Belle wrapped herself around him, crooning words of comfort until he’d cried himself out, his throat aching and his eyelids feeling like they’d been lined with sandpaper.  “I’m certainly no fan of your father,” she agreed.

When Gold made a perfunctory attempt to sit up, a hand on his shoulder held him in place until he subsided, lying boneless in Belle’s lap as she carded her fingers tenderly through his hair, soothing his demons.  He was doing this for her, he reminded himself.  Therapy was not unlike having his soul flayed open, but he wasn’t suffering for no reason.  He was doing this for Belle.

Hopper wanted him to do this weekly, he remembered, nausea rising in his gut as his noble resolve faded.  He planned to work with Gold alone for at least three months before they even considered beginning the marriage counseling Belle had requested.  One session had nearly pushed him over the edge, and Hopper expected him to do this every week for _months_.

“I can’t do this.”

Her fingers stilled.  “What do you mean?”

Talking about his past for an hour had stirred up all kinds of things that Gold would preferred to keep buried forever, and the thought of what else Hopper might dig up made him shudder.  They’d barely scratched the surface of his bad memories, and just that much had frayed his temper to the point where he was snapping at Belle and reduced him to a sobbing wreck.  

“I _can’t,_ ” he repeated, struggling to explain.  “This is supposed to make me better, not worse.   _Look_ at me.”

“You’re hurting,” Belle agreed, her gentle caresses resuming.

“I don’t want to talk about all that.  It was so long ago.  It doesn’t matter any more,” he pleaded.  He just needed to bury the bad memories under a few more layers of mental concrete so they couldn’t escape.

Belle hummed softly as she considered his words.  “I don’t think that’s quite true,” she corrected him after a moment.  “I think it does still matter.  You wouldn’t have this strong of a reaction if it didn’t.”

His fingers clenched into a fist as he tried to swallow a flare of rage, not even sure what he was angry about.  Belle was absolutely right, and for some reason, it made him _furious_.  

“Breathe,” she commanded as she moved her hand from his hair to the back of his neck, firmly kneading his tense muscles.  

He sucked in a hard breath, feeling like the top of his head was going to blow off in rage.  On the second deep breath, the anger abruptly vanished, and he curled in on himself as he found tears again running down his face.

“I’ve got you,” Belle crooned.  “Let it out.”

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.  For years, Gold had prided himself on his composure, and now his emotions were completely out of control

“Well, if you did like it, I’d think you were crazy,” Belle informed him, her voice dry.

He snorted a laugh through his tears, wondering if he was getting hysterical.  

“Just breathe,” she encouraged, adjusting her grip on him so he was lying more comfortably in her lap.

This time the storm of tears was brief, and Gold mopped his face with his pocket square, feeling overheated and vaguely hungover.  “I’m losing my mind.”

“I think you’ve been pushing all of this down for so long that you’re not sure how to handle it.”  Belle’s hand was gentle on his back.  “I wish this was easier for you.”

“Therapy is supposed to make me better, but all it’s doing is making me angry.  And miserable,” he added.  Belle had asked only one thing of him, and he couldn’t even do that right.  “It’s not working.”

“Oh, Diarmid…”  She leaned down to kiss the top of his head.  “You’ve had _one_ real session.”

“One too many,” he said, his voice dark.

“I think it’s like cleaning out an attic.”

That metaphor made so little sense that Gold craned his neck so he could look up at her, seeing Belle gazing into the middle distance, her brow furrowed.  Nothing on her face gave him any hint as to her meaning, and he was forced to admit that she’d lost him.  “Come again?”

“After my grandma died, I helped Dad clean out her house.  The worst part was the attic.  It took weeks.  There was stuff everywhere, and everything was dusty and dirty.  We were trying to sort things, and it seemed like everything we did just made things worse.  When I took a shower at the end of the day, the water would turn black because I was so filthy.”  Despite her dire words, there was light in Belle’s eyes as though she had fond memories of the experience.

“Eventually, we started making headway.  We got rid of a lot of stuff that was broken or useless and tided up the rest so it was clean and organized.”  She gave him a meaningful look.

This time, Gold got it.  “You’re saying that I have to get worse before I can get better.”

Belle bit her lip.  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?  It’s like you’ve been shoving all of these horrible things into a little room, and now you’re taking them out again.  Everything that you didn’t deal with before, you have to deal with now.”

Since there was no shortage of unpleasantness in his past that Gold had failed to deal with, the thought of trying to do it all at once was daunting.  “It sounds to me like I just need a better lock on the door to that room.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d meant that to be a joke or not, but Belle didn’t look amused.  “Think how much better you’re going to feel when you don’t have to carry all of that crap around any more.”

Considering how awful he currently felt, Gold couldn’t even imagine what that might feel like.  “If I couldn’t deal with this stuff before, what good is dredging it up again going to do?”

“That’s what Dr. Hopper is for,” Belle reminded him.  “It’s his job to help you process your memories.”

So far, Hopper wasn’t exactly excelling at that part of his job.  Even as he had the thought, Gold was forced to admit that he was being unfair.  Hopper had made a few suggestions of things he could do as a follow-up to the session.  It wasn’t entirely his fault that Gold had been in no state to listen to any of them.

“I think that before you start your next session you should tell him what happened tonight.  Maybe there are ways he can help you feel less overwhelmed,” Belle suggested.

The thought of next time made his stomach ache.  “If I decide not to go back, will you leave me?”

The room suddenly seemed very quiet, his question hanging in the air.  “I have no idea how to answer that.”

Frustration at her hedging made him grind his teeth.  “Yes or no would be a good start,” he pointed out, sounding waspish to his own ears.

“Stop it,” Belle murmured, not rising to the bait.  “You’re not angry.”

Since anger was an emotion Gold was very well acquainted with, he was inclined to disagree with her.  He was just opening his mouth to do so before his better judgement caught up with him, reminding him that snapping at his wife when she was trying to help was unlikely to improve their marriage.  

If he wasn’t angry, what was he?

The answer rocked him to the core.  Belle was absolutely right.  He wasn’t angry.  He was _terrified_.

He was afraid of what might be unearthed if he and Hopper went digging through his past.  He was afraid that if he let the demons loose that he would never be able to cage them again.  He was afraid to let go of his power and control for fear of being reduced to the helpless, pathetic boy he’d once been.

He was scared out of his mind and using anger to hide that fact, even from himself.

There was no point in hiding it from Belle.  His wife had seen through him like he was made of glass.  “I’m scared.”

Instantly, her arms were around him, Belle scooting down until she could lie beside him and hold him tightly.  “I love you,” she reminded him, her lips so close to his ear that he could feel the words as much as hear them.

“I’m not going to give you an ultimatum— go to therapy or we’re through.  That’s not fair.  But you’re in pain, Diarmid.  You’re hurting more than you even know, and I hate that.  All of the things that happened to you… you carry them with you, and they’re poisoning you.  I’m not sure I can watch while you’re being eaten alive.  If I could wave a magic wand and fix everything, I would, but I can’t.  I _wish_ I could.  Therapy is the only thing I know of that might help, but it has to be your choice.  If you decide not to go back… I don’t know.”

Belle sounded as miserable and confused as he felt, and Gold squirmed until he could put his arms around her, offering her what comfort he could.  If he continued with his sessions, she was the one who would bear the brunt of his temper and mood swings, but she was already dealing with those.  If he went through with the therapy, at least there was the possibility that things could improve.  If he continued along the same path he’d been following, they never would.

“If I do this, I’m going to be a bear to put up with,” he warned her.  

Belle kissed his forehead.  “Considering what you’ve put up with from Dad, I’d say you’ve earned quite a bit of patience and understanding.  If you snap at me, I’ll try very hard to remember not to take it personally, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through this.”

He nestled closer and buried his face against her throat, breathing in her sweet scent.  “This helps,” he admitted.  With Belle’s arms to hold him together, Gold felt less like he was on the verge of falling apart  However, she had asked for space, and clinging to her like a child wasn’t respecting her wish.  

With effort, he tried to pull away.  “I have no right to ask this of you.”

Belle made a rude noise and hauled him back against her, his wife demonstrating surprising strength.  “You’re not asking.  I’m offering,” she corrected.

It seemed too easy.  Although he’d spent the last two weeks trying to amend his behavior, he still had a long way to go before he was anywhere near earning her forgiveness for the night at the beach.  He didn’t deserve her comfort, but Belle was offering it to him anyway.  “I don’t—”

“I do,” she said firmly.  “You’re hurting, and if this helps you feel better, I’m happy to do it.  Now please try to rest.  You’ve had an awful day.”

They were both still fully clothed, Gold realized, his mind too scrambled to actually do anything about the situation as he snuggled back into Belle’s embrace.  She would hardly be comfortable spending the night on his office couch with him, but Belle seemed perfectly content to do just that.  Her only concession to their circumstances was to tug his blue paisley tie loose.

“I love this tie,” she murmured.

He’d worn it because it reminded him of her, a way of keeping her at his side during his session.  “That’s why I wore it.”

When she kissed his temple, he could feel her smile against his skin.  “Go to sleep.”

In the protective circle of Belle’s arms, nothing could touch him.  Her presence held the demons of his past at bay.  She couldn’t banish them—nothing could ever do that—but her light was so strong that darkness held no sway here.

Gold closed his eyes, an alien feeling displacing the anger and fear: security.  As long as Belle was at his side, he knew that somehow all would be well.  In her arms, he was safe.  

He was loved.


	37. Chapter 37

When Gold’s phone rang, he was tempted to ignore it.  Although his weekly therapy sessions were no longer guaranteed to reduce him to a shaking, sobbing wreck, digging through his past was still a shattering experience, leaving him feeling scattered and easily distracted throughout the week.  His productivity had suffered as a result, and this afternoon’s three hour stint in his office was the first time in ages that he’d felt like he was actually accomplishing something.

Naturally, that would be when someone decided to interrupt.

With a grumble of irritation, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the caller’s identity, annoyance giving way to panic when he saw who was on the other end of the line.

He nearly dropped the phone in his haste to answer it.  “Bae?”

It was Wednesday afternoon, not their scheduled time to talk, and Gold’s pulse doubled its rate as he waited for Bae to say something.  While he would have liked nothing more than to have the sort of relationship with his son where Bae felt free to call him at random moments just to chat, that wasn’t the relationship they had.  If Bae was calling out of the blue, something had to be wrong.  Gold turned his back on his computer, devoting every iota of his attention to the impending conversation.

“It’s a boy.”

“The baby’s _here_?” Gold blurted, flipping frantically through his desk calendar as he tried to count.  Emma wasn’t due for _months_.  It was too early, far too early.  There would be problems and complications, and even though he had all the money in the world at his fingertips, there was nothing he could actually _do_ to help save Bae’s child.  Now, when it mattered most, he was powerless.

“What?  No.”  As Bae spoke again, it slowly dawned on him that his son sounded far more upbeat than he would have been had he been faced with a severely premature infant.  “Emma had her twenty week ultrasound today.  The one where you find out the sex?  It’s a boy.”

The backwash of relief left Gold feeling shaky and vaguely nauseous.  Perhaps his eagerness to jump to the worst possible conclusion at a moment’s notice was something that he should address with Dr. Hopper.

He took a moment to breathe, letting the panic go as he focused on what was actually happening—his son was going to have a son of his own.  The thought made his eyes burn.  “That’s _wonderful_ , Bae,” he managed, his voice thick with unshed tears.  “Congratulations.”

“I just thought I’d call, you know?  It seemed like something I should tell you.”  On the other end of the line, Bae cleared his throat.  “Hell, that’s not… I _wanted_ to tell you.”

His heart was pounding so hard that Gold feared that his ribs would crack.  This was one of the biggest moments of Bae’s life, and his son had chosen to share it with him.  He could easily have saved the news for their next scheduled phone call or not told him at all, but instead, he’d reached out to share this with his papa.  “I’m _so_ glad you did.  Thank you.”

“I don’t think it really hit me until today,” Bae confessed with a rueful laugh.  “I mean, we did the dating ultrasound, but that was just, like, a blob.  This time, it was like ‘Hey, there’s a baby in there.’  A boy.”

He could hear Bae breathing.  “I’m going to be a dad,” his son said softly.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father,” Gold assured him.  He hadn’t given Bae much of an example of parenthood to follow, but that wouldn’t matter.  Bae was everything that his own father wasn’t—selfless, brave, and strong.  Any child would be lucky to have him.

“It’s just weird,” Bae said in a rush.  “I’m going to be responsible for an actual _person_.  I can barely keep a plant alive.”

“You’ll know what to do,” Gold promised.  “Trust me, babies have a way of making their needs known.  Plants don’t.”

Bae chuckled.  “Good point.”

“And you have Emma.  You’re not going to be doing this alone.”  He hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting his son’s partner, but just the way Bae spoke of Emma told Gold that they were a perfect match.  With each other to rely upon, they’d be just fine.

“I think she’s even more freaked out than I am.  She was a foster kid, you know?  I mean, at least I had eight good years before everything went to hell.  She didn’t even get that much.”  

Gold marveled at the lack of malice in Bae’s voice.  He’d ruined his son’s life by allowing Milah’s lies to come between them, but Bae never took the opportunity to twist the knife.  Of course, he didn’t have to.  Gold was more than capable of torturing himself with guilt without his son’s aid.

Before he could apologize, Bae spoke again.  “Were you scared?  When I came along?  You were… what?  Twenty-two?  God, you were practically a kid yourself.  I never thought about that.”

Gold’s breath caught in his throat when he thought back to those early days.  He’d almost forgotten how tiny Bae had been, how helpless and fragile.  “I suppose I was.  I don’t know.  I loved you so much that there wasn’t any room for anything else.”

Too late, he realized that Bae might not find his words helpful.  “At first, it was overwhelming.  You were dependent on me for everything, and I worried that I would do something wrong and hurt you.  But the more I got to know you, the easier it got.  I could tell what you wanted from the faces you made and the way you cried.  You couldn’t talk, but you still told me what you needed.  It will be the same for you.  You’ll learn fast.”

He swallowed hard, wishing that he had the right to be with his son when he took his own first steps into fatherhood.  “From day one, you were the best thing that ever happened to me.  All I wanted was to make you happy.  I’m _so_ sorry that I didn’t do a better job of it.”

“Papa…”  On the other end of the phone, Bae sighed.  “You don’t have to keep apologizing.  I already forgave you.  At least, I think I did.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed as hell, but… I get it.  You did what you thought was best for me.  Your heart was in the right place.  Your brain… I don’t know where the hell your brain was, but your heart was definitely in the right place.  You tried to do the right thing.  Do you realize that when all that went down, you were younger than I am now?  It’s not entirely your fault that you screwed it up.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t _your_ fault,” Gold protested, horrified by the thought that Bae could blame himself for any of this.  He’d been a child.

Bae laughed a little.  “Actually, I was talking about Mother, but thanks for the defense.”

The thought of Milah made him grind his teeth.  “My lawyer is quite interested in the fact that she spent five years collecting child support for a child who no longer lived with her.”

Bae whistled softly.  “I can imagine.”

“I’ll leave it up to you if I should ask him to proceed.”  Once, the thought of making Milah pay for what she’d done would have had him salivating with vicious delight, but now the idea of dredging all of that up again just made Gold feel tired.  What difference would it make if a court required her to repay the money or sentenced her to a few months in jail?  It wouldn’t turn back the hands of time.  The twenty-five years he and Bae had lost could never be reclaimed.

His son, however, might feel differently.  If the court forced Milah to give the child support money to Bae, that sum might look good to a man getting ready to start a family of his own.  Gold would be more than happy to contribute, but he was aware that it wasn’t the same.  Somehow, he didn’t think Bae would be sanguine about accepting a handout from him, however good his intentions were.

“I admit that it’s tempting.  After what she did… I don’t know.  I’m going to have to think about that.”  

“Take all the time you want.”  Gold shook his head, wondering how the conversation had gotten so far off-track.  “But we were talking about you.  And your son.”

He marveled at the words as he said them aloud.  His son was going to have a son of his own.  His boy was a boy no longer.

“That’s kind of surreal, isn’t it?” Bae asked.  “Pretty soon, someone’s going to be calling me Dad.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Gold murmured.  “No child could ever have a better father.”

Bae made a choked noise.  “Thanks, Papa.”

For a moment, all was silent, then he spoke again, “So… you’re going to be a grandpa.  How’s that make you feel?”

The question made Gold wheeze with shock.  Somehow, he hadn’t quite processed that if his son was going to be a father, that would make him a grandfather.  Perhaps he just hadn’t dared allow himself to believe that Bae and Emma would actually allow him to participate in their child’s life.  

“I like the idea very much,” he said honestly.  His grandson would be his second chance, and this time he would do everything right.

“How’s Belle going to like being someone’s grandma?” Bae asked, his voice teasing.

“You’ll have to ask her,” Gold chuckled.  He couldn’t imagine his wife being anything but delighted about the new baby, even if she was far too young to be a grandmother.  He imagined that if they could find a way to explain the situation to Moe, his father-in-law would take great pride in being a great-grandfather.  What an odd family they were.

“Does it bother you?” he asked Bae, a note of hesitation in his voice.  “That I remarried?”

“Of course not,” his son said at once.  “What?  You think I’m going to be mad that you moved on after things didn’t work out with Mother?  I have to admit that it took me a while to wrap my head around you marrying a woman young enough to be your daughter, but it made sense after I met Belle.  She’s pretty cool.  And she’s obviously head-over-heels for you, so you must have done something right there.”

Gold flinched at Bae’s cheerful summation of his marriage.  His son had met Belle exactly one time, and he’d been able to tell that she was in love with him.  Gold, meanwhile, had lived with her for months without ever having a clue.

“I’m glad you approve of her.”  It would have been lovely to have Bae at his side as his best man on his wedding day, but even months later, earning his son’s tacit blessing warmed his heart.

“I’m willing to bet she’ll be a better stepmom than Killian was a stepfather.”  Bae snickered.  “Hell, she’s probably going to be a better mom than Mother.  It’s nice that between Emma and I, we do have one set of parents that don’t suck.”

Bae had told him a bit about Emma’s background as a foster child, and he already knew what had happened with Milah and Killian.  The other sets of parents had set a very low bar for him and Belle to surpass, but Gold would take what he could get.  They might be the favorite parents by default, but they _were_ the favorites.  As far as he was concerned, it was an honor.

He was a father again.  And he was going to be a grandfather.

Even after he and Bae said their goodbyes, Gold couldn’t stop marveling at the idea.  Bae had reached out to him today, a sure sign that they’d made progress in mending their relationship.  In a matter of months, he would have a grandson to dote on, and he could only hope that the little boy’s existence would bring them even closer together.  Child-rearing had probably come a long way since Bae was an infant, but at least he could offer support even if any advice he might give would be hopelessly outdated.

Although he tried to return his attention to his computer, his work held no appeal for him.  Instead, Gold rose from his chair and left his office.  He and Bae had made progress today, and he wanted to share the moment with Belle.

At this time of day, she could usually be found reading in the garden or on one of the balconies, but today she’d strayed from her normal routine.  When his search took him past their bedroom, he caught sight of her through the open door, sprawled across the bed they no longer shared, her tablet in hand and several notebooks surrounding her.

She seemed caught up in what she was doing, a small furrow between her eyebrows betraying her concentration.  For a moment, Gold was tempted to leave her in peace, but a second thought made him hesitate.  He’d been busy this afternoon when Bae called, but he welcomed the interruption if it meant he got time with his son.  If Belle loved him, perhaps she would feel the same way.

If he caught the barest hint of the impression that he was bothering her, he would leave her alone, Gold promised himself as he rapped lightly on the door frame.  Even if she didn’t mind being interrupted, she might not welcome his presence in the bedroom.

Belle glanced up at his soft knock and tossed her tablet aside.  “Diarmid!  Hey.”  Her welcoming smile belayed his fears.

“May I join you?”  He wouldn’t cross this line without her explicit permission.  They hadn’t been in this room together since the night at the beach.  Gold was careful to gather clothes and other necessities only when Belle was with Moe, and when she held him after his therapy sessions, they spent their nights on the couch in his office.

“Of course,” she said promptly, waving a hand for him to join her.  

Scarcely able to believe how easy it was, Gold stepped into the room.  When no supernatural force smote him for his presumption, he made his way to the bed, not drawing a full breath until he was sitting next to his wife in his old spot.  Belle’s face didn’t betray a flicker of apprehension.

“Snack?” she offered, plucking a plate off of her nightstand to offer to share its contents with him.

Gold felt his eyebrows lifting as he looked at what she was eating.  “What on earth is this?  Marcona almonds?  Belgian truffles?  Are you sick?  Why aren’t you eating pork rinds and gummy worms?”

As he hoped, Belle giggled at the teasing, and Gold gave her his most suspicious look.  “Out with it.  Who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

“Your wife can occasionally appreciate the finer things in life,” Belle told him as she picked up a truffle, holding her little finger out in an comically refined manner as she nibbled it.

“It’s about damned time,” he pretended to grumble before dropping the act and helping himself to a chocolate.  

“So, what’s up?” she asked.  “Everything is okay, isn’t it?”

“Bae called.”  

Belle beamed at the news.  Unlike him, she didn’t immediately leap to the conclusion that something must be wrong if his son was calling him out of the blue, and perhaps he should start taking a page out of her book.  Of course, if something had been amiss, he wouldn’t have been teasing her about her eating habits, so she’d also had an advantage.

“Emma had a scan today.  It’s a boy.  Bae… he said he wanted to tell me.”  Gold’s voice broke.

“Oh, Diarmid, that’s _wonderful_.”  Belle put her hand on his thigh and squeezed gently.

“I’m going to be a grandfather.”  He’d known that before, but it was real in a way now that it hadn’t been before.  Until today, the baby had been more of a concept than an individual.  Now, his grandson felt very real.

“You’re going to be great at it,” Belle told him at once, giving his leg another squeeze.  “I’m so glad Neal reached out to you.  Look how far the two of you have already come!”

Taking a risk, Gold covered her hand with his own.  “Thanks to you.”  The guilt threatened to choke him at the memory of how he’d repaid her gift.

Belle shook her head.  “All I did was push the door open.  You did everything else yourself.  You’re working _hard_ to fix this, Diarmid.  Give yourself some credit.”

Since all he was doing was fixing his own mistake, Gold wasn’t inclined to award himself too many points.  If Belle was proud of him, that was enough.  “And you’re going to be a grandma.”

He laughed when she pulled a face.  “ _Grandma_?  Oh god… We’re going to have to find something else for the baby to call me.”

“Grandma and Grandpa.  It matches.”  Gold did his best to sound serious.

Belle shuddered.  “No, thank you.  Bad enough that I’m going to be a grandmother before I’m—“

Gold blinked as his wife cut herself off.  “Before you’re…?” he prompted.

“A mother,” she whispered, looking away.  

“Belle.”  For the life of him, he didn’t know what to say.  

“It’s okay.”  She shook off her words with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “We’re not there.  That’s a conversation for later.”

“If you want to talk about it…”  Their relationship was in no state to welcome a child, but if Belle wanted one, Gold would move heaven and earth to make that happen.  

She sighed.  “No.  Not now.  After we get ourselves straightened out, we’ll talk about it.  We have plenty of time.”

“All the time in the world,” he promised, trying not to let himself imagine a world where he and Belle were welcoming a baby of their own.  She was right: they weren’t there yet.

He glanced around, searching to change the subject before his imagination could get the best of him.  “What are you working on?”

Belle latched on to the new topic, her expression grateful.  “I was doing some research for the fundraiser.  Venues and themes and things like that.  I was trying to get a sense of what other people have done that’s been successful.”

Gold swallowed a flash of hurt.  The fundraiser was a project that he and Belle had been planning to complete together, but that was before the night at the beach.  If she would prefer to do it on her own rather than trust him to help her, he couldn’t blame her.  It was no one’s fault but his own that they were no longer as close as they’d once been.

He shifted his weight, meaning to retreat back to his office and lick his wounds.  If Belle preferred to do this on her own, he needed to respect that.  Perhaps, for her, this was a way of reclaiming her independence and proving that she could stand on her own two feet.  

Before he could rise, Belle gave him a piercing look.  “Are you okay?”

Gold pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth as he tried to find an answer.  He needed to be supportive of Belle’s independence, but hiding things from her had led to nothing but misery.  “I suppose I’m a little disappointed.  I was looking forward to helping you plan the dinner.  But I know that you’re going to do an incredible job on your own.  I have every confidence in you.”

“Diarmid!”  The distress in her eyes had him mentally replaying his words, wondering how he’d managed to upset her.  He’d thought he was being encouraging.

She grabbed his hand, tugging until he was once again beside her.  “I’m sorry!  I was just trying to help.  You’ve got so much on your plate with Neal and therapy and work and everything else.  The fundraiser was just one more thing for you to deal with, and I thought that if I could do most of the work it would take some of the pressure off you.  I didn’t know that you _wanted_ to help.”

Once again, he’d completely misunderstood her.  She’d been trying to ease his burden and instead, he’d taken it as a slight.  Gold mentally slapped himself as he leaned over to kiss the top of Belle’s head.  “That was very thoughtful of you, sweetheart.”

“I made the same mistake that you do.  I assumed I knew what you were thinking instead of asking.”  Belle glanced up with a rueful smile.  “Would you like to help me plan the fundraiser?”

“Very much,” he assured her.  However many responsibilities he had, time spent with Belle would always be a source of pleasure, not stress.

“I’d like that too.”

She leaned against his shoulder as she picked up one of the notebooks to show him the list she’d made.  “This is what I have so far.”

Just like that, the problem was solved, and Gold shook his head in wonder at how easy it had been as he devoted himself to Belle’s list.  If he hadn’t been honest with her, he’d be stewing in his office right now, feeling rejected.  Instead, he had Belle pressed against his side, her hair tickling the side of his face as they shared their thoughts and ideas about the upcoming dinner.

Honesty was _definitely_ the best policy.


	38. Chapter 38

“And how did that make you feel?”

Gold took a deep breath in through his nose as he contemplated Hopper’s question.  It was a trick the therapist had taught him during one of their earliest sessions since Gold’s default emotional response to almost any difficult situation was anger.  It had taken Belle pointing out that he used rage as a shield to make him realize just how out of touch he was with his own feelings.  By breathing and sitting with the emotion for a few moments, he was slowly learning to look past the anger to what lay beneath.

This time, however, the trick wasn’t necessary.  He’d been sharing one of the few good memories from his childhood: the day his father had praised him for winning an academic award.  In hindsight, Malcolm had only been pleased because the award was monetary, allowing him to go on a bender, but young Diarmid hadn’t known that.  He’d hugged his father’s praise close, and even now the memory of Malcolm calling him a bright boy warmed him.

“It was the happiest day of my childhood.” 

Hopper nodded and continued to look at him, his silence inviting Gold to delve deeper.  “I felt proud because I’d made him happy.”  Even Malcolm taking the prize money for himself hadn’t ruined it.  For one shining moment, his father had loved him.  For a child starved for positive attention, that one moment had been worth far more than the money.

“It’s important to you to make others happy,” Hopper observed.

“Only the people I care about.”  No one would ever accuse him of being a philanthropist, but when it came to the people he loved, nothing was more important than their happiness.

“Why is that?”

Gold rolled his eyes at the therapist’s question.  Why was it important to make the people he loved happy?  It was like asking why a cold drink was pleasant on a hot day or why people enjoyed petting dogs.  What was more basic than wanting to please those you cared about?  “I would think the answer to that is obvious.”

Hopper smiled gently.  “Enlighten me.”

To Gold, the answer to Hopper’s question was painfully obvious, therefore it came as a bit of surprise when he couldn’t put it into words.  “Because it… is.  When you love someone, you want them to be happy.  It’s important.”

Befuddled, he shook his head and tried again.  “Loving someone means putting their happiness first.”

He could feel his face heating under Hopper’s level gaze, aware that he’d done little more than rephrase the question.  Why was this so difficult?  Loving someone meant making their happiness your priority.  It was _obvious_.  So why was it so damned hard to explain _why_?

Hopper nodded.  “Your father taught you that.”

“Oh please.  My father wouldn’t have recognized love had it poured itself into a glass and pressed itself into his hand.”  By this point, Hopper should know enough about his past to recognize that heartfelt father-son conversations about the nature of love and the meaning of life had no place in the relationship between Malcolm and Diarmid Gold.

“Parents are our first teachers.  They teach us how to relate to the world by how they relate to us.  If a parent provides unconditional love and support, he teaches us to be secure in ourselves.  If not…”  Hopper gave him a meaningful look.

“I see your point,” he conceded.  Malcolm Gold had taught him a number of lessons, and Gold shivered when he wondered just how much of his personality had been shaped by his father.

“It felt good to make your father happy, didn’t it, Diarmid?” Hopper asked quietly.

The question made him feel queasy.  His love for his family was something that set him apart from his father.  He cared about other people, and his father had cared only about himself.  He wanted to make his loved ones happy, and all his father had wanted was to use the people closest to him to benefit himself.  Hearing that Malcolm Gold had shaped his definition of love…  No.  He wouldn’t accept that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  His voice broke on the lie.

There was an ocean of sympathy in Hopper’s eyes.  “You were a child.  Children crave their parents’ love.  Instead of giving you his love freely, your father taught you that love is conditional.  You learned that you don’t _deserve_ love.  You have to _earn_ love.”

“It’s important to make the people I love happy because if they’re happy, they’ll stay with me and return my feelings.”  So much for his noble motivations.  If he treated his loved ones well solely to get something in return, did that even count as love?  He was more like his father than he’d ever realized.  

“It sheds new light on your first marriage, doesn’t it?” Hopper asked.  “You were primed for an abusive relationship before you ever met Milah.”

Now _that_ was unfair.  “I did _not_ abuse Milah.”  Owning his mistakes was one thing, but Gold refused to accept blame for things that had never happened.

Hopper held up his hands in surrender.  “I didn’t mean to imply that you did.”

“Then what—?”  Gold cut himself off as Hopper’s meaning became clear.  He wasn’t accusing Gold of abusing his first wife.  He was observing that his first wife had abused him.  “Oh.”

This revelation didn’t rock him nearly as much as learning that his childhood had been abusive did.  Perhaps he was getting used to viewing himself through that lens.

“Children of abusive parents often seek abusive partners,” Hopper said earnestly.  “It’s a familiar dynamic, as comfortable as it is unhealthy.”

“Lovely,” Gold muttered, taking refuge in sarcasm.  Had he really been fool enough to marry a woman who was just like his father?  

Hopper gave him a rueful smile.  “I know.  It hardly seems fair.  People with backgrounds like yours often develop certain traits that make them very attractive to those who seek to exploit others for personal gain— low self esteem, a willingness to deny one’s own needs, abandonment issues… The list goes on.”

Apparently he could blame his father for his miserable first marriage.  Somehow, the thought wasn’t as reassuring as it once might have been.  Gold was _tired_ of being angry.  Blaming his father for his struggles held no appeal.  All he wanted was to put his past behind him for good, but Malcolm Gold’s fingerprints were all over his life.

Gold wanted to scrub every inch of it clean, banish all traces of the man he despised.  “So, how do I change?  How can I be normal?”

“For better or for worse, your past experiences have shaped you into the man you are today.  What we can do is work together to develop better strategies to cope with your past experiences and tools to help you interact with the life you have now.  You can learn to change your thought patterns and behaviors to reflect a healthier outlook, but you will always fundamentally be the same person.”

Gold wasn’t sure if the therapist’s words were comforting or not.  There was nothing particularly admirable about the person he was today, but the idea of becoming a new man—a better man—didn’t exactly appeal either.  He’d had fifty-five years of practice at being Diarmid Gold.  It was too late to mold himself into someone else, but if he could learn to be a slightly better version of himself, perhaps that would be enough.

“Let’s start with some positive affirmations,” Hopper continued.  “Every morning and evening, I want you to look yourself in the eye in your mirror and repeat one of these sentences several times out loud.”

Gold frowned when Hopper handed him a short stack of cards, each with a different sentence written in large font over a decorative background.  “I deserve to be happy and loved,” he read aloud, his voice doubtful.

“Try to say it like you mean it,” Hopper encouraged.

The rest of the cards were no better.   _I am flexible and open to change_ was a blatant lie, and _I am enough just as I am_ made his stomach curdle.  “And what is the point of this?”

“It’s a way of counteracting your internal monologue,” Hopper explained, his eyes lighting up as he warmed to his topic.  “You are your own worst critic, and negative self-talk is very damaging.  Did you know that current research says that it takes somewhere between three and seven positive statements to balance out _one_ negative statement?  Think about how many negative things you think about yourself each day!”

Considering his usual inner monologue, if Hopper was right, he was going to have to spend every waking minute sweet talking himself in the mirror to balance out the negativity.  This was ridiculous.

“It’s okay if you don’t believe the affirmations at first.  Just practice saying them with conviction.  Given enough repetition, you’ll start to believe what you’re saying.  In time, your thought patterns will become more positive.”  Hopper looked so delighted at the prospect that Gold couldn’t bring himself to argue with him.

“Think of it as a way to silence your father,” the therapist suggested, apparently sensing Gold’s reluctance.  “It’s a way to overwrite all those negative beliefs he programmed into you.”

Now _that_ idea he could get behind.  Thinking of his brain like a computer made a bit more sense.  His father had inputted a lot of nonsense, and now he was slowly going back through and reprogramming the source code—by saying nice things to himself in the mirror.  

Well, it was worth a try.

Gold was willing, but that didn’t make actually saying the affirmations any easier.  That night, he looked into his own eyes in the bathroom mirror, trying to ignore the deep lines that framed them.  “I am worthy of love.”

Before he’d finished the third word, his gaze was already slipping away to look at his toothbrush, and his voice sounded overly loud and artificial in the quiet room.  Suddenly paranoid that someone would be able to hear him through the closed door, he flipped the exhaust fan on and tried again.

“I am worthy of love.”

It was no use.  Hopper had instructed him to say the words like he meant them, but he would have needed to be an Oscar-winning actor to pull off that trick.  Worthy of love?  There was nothing lovable about him.

Gritting his teeth, he glared into his own eyes.  “I _am_ worthy of love.”  

He sounded pathetic to his own ears.  If George King ever caught wind of this, Gold would never be able to live down the shame.  

With a growl, he slammed out of the bathroom, coming up short when he heard Belle call his name.  “Diarmid?”

“Belle?”  He automatically followed her voice toward the living room, puzzled.  Since tonight’s therapy session hadn’t left him a sobbing wreck, he’d assumed that Belle would choose to go upstairs after debriefing with him.  He’d told her about the affirmations, although he hadn’t mentioned his revelation that it was Malcolm Gold who had irrevocably shaped his ideas about love.  He wasn’t lying to her—at least he didn’t think he was.  He just wasn’t quite ready to give voice to it yet.  How was he supposed to tell the woman he loved that his father had made it all but impossible for him to love anyone properly?

When he stepped into the living room, Belle glanced up with a smile and put her tablet aside.  “I’m not really in the mood to read tonight.  You probably don’t feel up to a game of chess, but do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Instead of retreating to her bedroom after she realized he wasn’t going to fall apart, Belle was choosing to spend time with him.  Her generosity brought tears to his eyes.  “I would like that.”

“Me too.”  She smiled gently and patted the sofa cushion beside her.  “Come on.  What do you want to watch?”

Arguing over which movie to watch together felt so normal that Gold could almost believe that everything was once again right between them.  Their taste in movies had far more in common than their taste in food did, but Gold argued solely for the sake of arguing, loving the way that Belle’s eyes sparkled as they bickered.  

Eventually, they decided on _Bringing Up Baby_ , and Gold held his breath as Belle leaned against his shoulder.  “This is nice,” she murmured.

“Very nice,” he agreed, afraid to move a muscle for fear of breaking the spell.  It was a good thing that he’d seen the film before because he couldn’t concentrate on anything save for the warmth of her beside him.

“We should get a leopard,” Belle announced partway into the movie.

Gold chuckled at the idea.  “I can’t imagine your father’s reaction to that.  Perhaps start smaller?  A gerbil, maybe?”

“Actually, Dad would probably be thrilled; he loves animals.”  Belle gave him a playful nudge.  “If a leopard is too big, how about a lynx?  They have awesome ears.”

“How about something that won’t eat us in our sleep?” he retorted, enjoying the game.  If Belle was going to suggest exotic pets, his role was to counter with mundane ones.  Unfortunately, he was having trouble thinking of anything more mundane than the gerbil he’d already mentioned.

“We need fish,” he decided.  “Your father can watch the tank, and if one goes belly-up, we can swap it out without him being any the wiser.”

“A moray eel— a _big_ one.”  Belle’s eyes danced with amusement.  “We’ll name him Bob.  Bob the eel.”

“Bob?  What kind of a name is _Bob_ for an eel?”

Belle gave him a challenging look.  “Do you have a better idea?”

Gold snorted.  “We should call it Cora.  They have much the same personality.”

To his delight, Belle burst into laughter at the suggestion.  “You win.”

She beamed up at him, her face flushed a soft pink with amusement, and she looked so precious that it was all Gold could do not to vow to buy her fifty eels if it would only make her smile.  Hell, he’d procure a leopard for her if she actually wanted one— anything to make her happy.

Bile rose in his throat at the thought.  He longed to make Belle happy, but to what end?  Because he was unselfishly devoted to her or because it was a way of manipulating her into staying with him?

“Diarmid?”  Her voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.  “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to love.”

That wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and as Belle reached for the remote to turn off the television, Gold cursed himself.  They’d been having such a lovely evening, and once again, he’d ruined everything

“Talk to me,” she encouraged, resting her hand on his knee.  

It was too late to play it off now.  He knew Belle well enough to know that she wouldn’t rest until she understood his rather cryptic statement.  “That’s what Hopper and I discussed tonight.  Everything I know about love, I learned from my father.  Love means putting the other person’s happiness first.  He taught me that by withholding his affection until I did something to earn it by pleasing him.  I always thought that I was being unselfish by putting the other person first, but I’m not.  I’m doing it to get something in return.”

“That’s terrible,” Belle murmured, her face distressed.

“I’m sorry.”  Gold closed his eyes, unable to bear the look on her face at realizing just how broken her husband truly was.

“What?  No.  I mean it’s terrible that he made you feel like that.  Parents are supposed to love their children.  It’s their _job_.  Your father… I _hate_ your father.”  Belle gave his thigh a gentle squeeze.

If anything, her words only made him feel worse.  If Belle loathed his father, she could have no choice but to loathe his creation as well.  “I am what he made me.  I didn’t realize it until tonight.  Everything that I am… it all leads back to him.  When you look at me, you’re seeing him.  You’re married to Malcolm Gold.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Belle said, her voice so brisk that he opened his eyes in shock.  “I married _you_ , not your father.  He might have shaped you into the man you are today, but you’re certainly not his clone.  My father shaped me.  Do you see _him_ when you look at me?”

Her question gave him pause.  “No, thank heavens.  I’m fond of your father, but I can’t say that I would want to be married to him.”

Belle’s eyes went glassy, but her smile calmed his panic.  “You’re fond of Dad?”

“Of course.”  He hadn’t realized that he’d never told her.  “I like your father a great deal.  I enjoy spending time with him.”

He could see Belle’s throat move as she swallowed.  “It makes me really happy to hear that.”

Without breaking their eye contact, she reached for his hand and lifted it to her mouth.  Gold bit back a moan at the touch of her warm lips against his fingers.  Since the night at the beach, kisses had been few and far between, and his body was starved for the press of her lips.

“I think you’re wrong.”  

He mourned as Belle released his hand and adjusted her position, turning so she could lean back against the arm of the sofa and face him more directly.  “Your father taught you that love was something you had to earn, so maybe that’s what you’re doing, but I don’t think that makes you selfish.  When it matters, you always put other people first.  I mean, you offered to divorce me so I would be able to collect alimony.  Or did you have an ulterior motive for that?”

“No.  I knew our marriage was over.  I just… didn’t want you to struggle.”  Even now, thinking about how close he’d come to losing Belle made him go cold.

“Because you love me.  You’re wrong, Diarmid.  You know how to love.  You just don’t know how to love _yourself_.”

His breath caught in his throat at her pointed comment, her words matching Hopper’s diagnosis.  “That’s what the affirmations are for.  I’m supposed to reprogram myself—eliminate the negative self talk.”  

“ _Good_.”  Belle sounded so emphatic that he nearly laughed.  “I _like_ the person you turned out to be, even if your father did have a hand in molding you.  It would be nice if you could learn to like yourself.”

“It’s not going well so far,” he admitted ruefully.

Belle rolled her eyes.  “What?  It’s not an instant cure?  Come on, Diarmid.  Pick up the pace.”

This time he did laugh, her sarcasm making her point.  “All right, all right.  Maybe I’m rushing things.  But I feel like an idiot talking to myself in the mirror.”

“What is Dr. Hopper having you say?”  Belle’s face fell.  “Sorry.  You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He waved off her apology.  At this point, there was no thought too private to share with her.  “Just things like ‘I am enough’ and ‘I am worthy of love’.”  He cleared his throat, hearing the disbelief in his own voice.  “He gave me cards.”

“Well, if you’re saying it like _that_ , no wonder it’s not working.”  Belle sat up on her knees and scooted a little closer.  “Try again.  Say it right this time— I am worthy of love.”

Try as he might, Gold couldn’t hold her gaze.  “I… am worthy of love.”  The words came out in a rush as though they might burn his tongue if they lingered there for too long.

He stared at the back of the couch with laser focus, noting the grain of the fabric.  When Belle gently cupped his face in her hands, turning him back to her, he nearly jumped out of his skin.  He hadn’t realized she was so close.

“Let’s try again,” she murmured, her nose brushing his as she forced him to meet her eyes.  “You are worthy of love.”

Her voice ached with sincerity, and Gold could feel his throat closing up.  “Now you say it,” she prompted.

“You are worthy of love,” he murmured, meaning the words with every fiber of his being.  

Belle gave his jaw a light tap.  “Say it right.”

As far as he was concerned, he had, but he knew what she wanted.  Gold took a deep breath and tried again.  “I am worthy of love.”

It was still weak and shaky, but this time he managed to hold her gaze while he said the words.  Belle’s eyes warmed at his effort.  

“That’s _good_ , Diarmid.  Try again.  You are worthy of love.”  Her thumbs stroked his jaw.

“I am worthy of love.”  Belle believed those words, even if he didn’t, and Gold clung to that.  If she believed in him, and he believed in her, maybe that would be enough.

“One more time,” she coaxed  

“I am worthy of love.”  This time, he mentally preceded those words with ‘Belle believes…’ and for the first time, he sounded confident.

Belle beamed at him.  “Yes, you are.”  

With the exercise at an end, Gold expected Belle to reclaim her seat beside him, but she remained where she was, her hands cradling his face and her breath warm against his lips.  Slowly, she rubbed her nose against his, and Gold held his breath, afraid to move a single muscle for fear of doing something to make her stop.

When her lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, feather-light, he moaned, unable to suppress the sound.  Instead of drawing back, Belle smiled and leaned in again, her lips barely touching his.

Terrified that he was misreading her cues, Gold tentatively closed the distance between them, claiming her mouth in a chaste kiss that set him aflame even though it ended almost before it began.  Belle made a breathy noise through her nose and melted against him, her fingers sliding around to delve into his hair.

Even he couldn’t misunderstand that.  Scarcely able to believe what was happening, Gold claimed his wife’s mouth, his lips worshipping hers.  She was so warm, so soft and sweet, and he couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to survive the last six weeks without this blissful contact.  It was only with Belle’s mouth pressed against his that he was able to breathe.

Belle moaned as he ran his tongue over the inside of her bottom lip, her grip on his hair tightening until it was nearly painful.  When her nails grazed the back of his neck, he nearly went out of his mind, and only the barest sliver of sanity allowed him to pull away instead of pushing her down on the couch.

He was shaking, his ragged breathing gradually slowing as he watched Belle sit back on her heels and run her tongue over her lips.  “I _missed_ that,” she confessed, her color high.

“I did too.”  He’d spent too many lonely nights on the couch in his office dreaming about his wife.  Even now, Gold half-expected to wake up and find himself alone.

“I’m not ready for more yet,” Belle admitted, looking up at him through her eyelashes.  “Is that okay?”

He sincerely hoped that was a rhetorical question.  “Of course it is, sweetheart.”  As long as she allowed him to be close to her, he would be content.  

Her smile was small, but genuine.  “Want to finish watching the movie?”

In response, Gold held his arm out to her, his spirit singing when Belle tucked herself against his side.  Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “There’s nothing I want more.”


	39. Chapter 39

“Thanks for letting me take a look at your project, Moe,” Bae said to the older man, sounding like he genuinely meant it.  

Gold watched the scene in front of him, barely tasting the dinner he’d spent a full week obsessing over the menu for.  It had to be fancy enough to celebrate the return of his prodigal son, yet not so elaborate as to seem pretentious or intimidating to a young couple who probably had more in common with Belle, appetite-wise, than with him.  

In the end, he’d gone simple and rustic—chicken parmesan with angel hair pasta and a green salad.  As a child, Bae had loved chicken parmesan, and Gold was aware that he was taking a risk in having it served tonight, but he’d been rewarded when his son smiled at the menu.  

For Emma and Moe there was sparkling water, and he’d chosen an accessible red wine for the rest of the group.  Gold took a small sip, aware that the vintage wasn’t a perfect pairing for the meal, but it had seemed more important to choose something easily drinkable.  Alcohol might be the only thing that got them through this night.

His son was home.

Twenty-five years ago, he’d bought this house for Bae, but this was the first time he was seeing his son under its roof.  The child he remembered was a grown man now with a son of his own on the way, and try as he might, Gold couldn’t quite believe this was really happening.  As promised, Bae had come home to visit, bringing Emma with him.  His son had forgiven him.

Under the table, Belle put a hand on his knee and squeezed gently, offering him her silent support.  Out of the corner of his eye, Gold watched her lift her fork and take a deliberate bite, reminding him that he should be eating, not just sitting in astonished silence and staring at Bae.

Moe gave Bae a puzzled look.  “Who _are_ you?”

Instead of looking offended that Moe couldn’t remember who he was for more than ten minutes at a time, Bae chuckled at the question.  “I’m his son,” he explained for the fifth time that evening, pointing at Gold.  “My name is Neal, and this is Emma.”

“Neal is your step-grandson,” Dove explained to Moe.

“Grandson, eh?  Bit old, isn’t he?”  Moe looked Bae up and down before nodding in approval.  “You seem like a nice boy.”

“Thanks, Grandad.”

Moe looked at Dove.  “When are they leaving?”

“Dad!” Belle scolded, giving her father a reproving look before turning to Bae and Emma.  “He doesn’t mean to be rude.”

Emma, who’d been looking a bit nettled, shook it off.  “It’s okay.  I guess we just need to get used to having a grandparent.  It’s something new.”

As a child bounced from foster home to foster home, Emma had never even had parents, let alone grandparents.  Gold had been careful to keep his own father away from Bae, but he’d never given any real thought to Milah’s parents.  She’d cut ties with the lower-class couple shortly after their wedding, deeming them beneath her.  In hindsight, that had been a more ominous red flag than he’d realized at the time.

Of course, he’d never known his own grandparents either, so all of them were going in to this blind.  Somehow they would have to figure it out because Gold fully intended to be the best grandpa the world had ever known.

“So, what exactly does a bail bondsperson do?” Dove asked Emma.

They really weren’t paying the man enough, Gold decided as the evening wore on.  Dove managed to keep the conversation moving, with regular assists from Belle, while still managing to wrangle Moe.  If Emma noticed that her father-in-law appeared to have been lobotomized, she didn’t say anything, but Gold was aware of some pointed looks coming from his son’s direction.

“Can I have a word with you?” Bae muttered after Dove and Moe retired upstairs.  Belle and Emma were sitting together on the couch, having an oddly passionate discussion about grilled cheese sandwiches, giving him and Bae space to speak one-on-one.

“Of course.”

“ _Privately_.”

From the tense set of Bae’s shoulders, Gold sensed trouble brewing, but he led his way to his office anyway, taking just a moment to be relieved that Belle had suggested they share the bedroom for the duration of Bae and Emma’s weekend visit.  Never had Gold been more grateful for her generous willingness to put up a united front.  He couldn’t bear the thought of Bae seeing signs of his ongoing habitation of his office couch and finding out what an utter hash he’d managed to make of his marriage.

“What did you want to discuss?” he asked once his office door was safely closed behind them.

“I want to know what you’ve got against Emma.”

His son’s demand took him aback.  “Against Emma?  I’ve nothing against her.  She’s lovely and a perfect match for you.”

Bae folded his arms across his chest.  “Oh yeah?  So, why have you been sulking all night?  You’ve barely said two words to anyone, and I know it’s not me.  You talk to me just fine.  So, it has to be Emma.”

“You’re home.”

Gold hadn’t even thought about the words before blurting them out, and from the look on Bae’s face, the statement was the last thing his son had been expecting to hear.  

“What?”

Gold took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts and shape them into a coherent explanation.  “This is the house you chose when you were eight years old.  I bought it for you.  I’ve spent twenty-five years dreaming about having you here, and now you are.  I can’t quite believe this is really happening.”

He tried to smile at his son.  “I apologize for being quiet.  If I offended Emma, I’ll apologize to her too.  I didn’t mean to slight her.  I just find myself a bit overwhelmed.”

Bae let his arms drop as he ducked his head.  “Oh,” he muttered, sounding so much like the little boy he’d once been that Gold ached to embrace him.  

He took half a step closer, halting when Bae turned slightly away from him, his body language making it clear that he wasn’t yet ready for that sort of closeness.  Gold swallowed hard, refusing to allow himself to be disappointed.  His son was back under his roof, and that was more than he’d ever expected to have.  Whatever relationship Bae would allow, he would take and be grateful for.

“Shall we rejoin the ladies?” he offered, giving his son an out.  

To his surprise, Bae shook his head.  “Actually, I did want to talk to you about something.”

With a rueful smile, his son claimed a spot on the sofa that had been Gold’s bed for the past two months.  “I’ve been logging a lot of frequent flier miles lately.”

“Oh?”  Gold claimed the seat at the other end of the couch, pleased when Bae leaned closer, resting his clasped hands on his knees.

“I went to visit Mother.”

“I’m afraid to ask how it went.”  The fact that Bae was here, Emma in tow, indicated that Milah hadn’t succeeding in turning his son against him for a second time, but since Bae hadn’t seen his mother since he was sixteen, he was hard-pressed to imagine that the visit could have gone well.

“I didn’t tell her I was coming, just showed up on the doorstep.  I had to have Emma use some of her connections to find the address.  Unlike you, she didn’t have any problem with moving.  I figured I’d give her a chance to explain.  I don’t know.  I guess I hoped that she had a good reason for doing what she did.  Like, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if there was some point to it.”

Gold couldn’t imagine any explanation that could justify what his first wife had done, but if Bae forgave her, he would have to accept his son’s decision.  After all, Bae had forgiven _him_.  He had no right to judge.

“And did she?” he prompted when Bae went quiet.

“We didn’t get that far.  Killian let me in, and he actually seemed kind of happy to see me.  Mother was out, so we shot the breeze for a while until she got home.”  Bae shook his head.  “I’ve never seen her look like she did when she saw me sitting there.”

Gold inhaled slowly, trying to picture the moment.  For all her flaws, Milah wasn’t a monster.  Even she couldn’t fail to be affected by a surprise reunion with the son she hadn’t seen in seventeen years.  Little as he wanted to reflect on her positive traits, he needed to be supportive of Bae’s relationship with her.  “I’m sure she was overjoyed to see you.”

Bae shot him a look of patent disbelief.  “Yeah, not really.  She wasn’t happy to see me.  It was like she was _terrified_ of me.”

“Terrified?” Gold parroted.  “I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I.  At least not at first.”  Bae ran his hand over his face.  “She was _really_ determined to get me alone—away from Killian.  You know me… That just made me want to hash the whole thing out in front of him.  So I called her on it.  All of it.”

Gold felt a rare flash of sympathy for his former wife.  He knew all too well how it felt to have his past mistakes thrown in his face, and that wasn’t a feeling he would wish on anyone, not even Milah.  “You asked her why she separated us.”

“I wanted some damn answers.  I didn’t think that was too much to ask.”  Bae set his jaw at a belligerent angle, as though expecting his father to argue with him.  When Gold didn’t, he continued, “I got as far as asking if she’d even bothered looking for me when I ran away when Killian hit the roof.”

“Defending his lady love, no doubt,” Gold muttered.  There was no accounting for taste.

Bae’s smile was grim.  “Apparently she didn’t just feed me and you a line of bullshit.  She told Killian that I hated you and wanted to live with them.  And when I took off, she told him that I’d moved back to Maine with you.”

For an instant, Gold’s head throbbed as he struggled to process all of the new information.  “The whole time… he never knew the truth?”

“No wonder she was so desperate to get me away from him before I blew her cover.  I’ve never seen Killian so pissed.  I guess parents are a touchy subject for him, and he lost it when he found out what she did.  I just kind of sat there and watched them scream at each other.”  Bae shook his head at the memory.

“I left about the time Killian announced that he was filing for divorce, which was also about the time that Mother told me she wished she’d never had me.”  Unbelievably, Bae’s mouth quirked into a small smile.  “It was kind of a relief.  I don’t have to feel guilty that I never loved her because she never loved me either.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Gold hastened to assure his son.  “You’re worthy of all the love in the world.  Your mother is simply… broken.”

As he said the words aloud, it was as though a switch flipped in his brain.  Hopper was right: he’d married a woman just like his father.  Milah was as incapable of loving Bae as Malcolm had been incapable of loving him, and it was neither of their faults.  It was _Malcolm_ who was broken, not Diarmid.  He could have been the perfect child, and Malcolm still would have loathed him.  There was something wrong with his father, not with him.  It wasn’t his fault.  

He was worthy of love.

So overwhelmed was he by the realization that Gold almost missed Bae’s next words.  “I don’t want to sue her or do whatever your lawyer had in mind.  I mean, I won’t argue if you do.  It’s your money.  But I got closure.  Maybe I should feel guilty for breaking up her marriage, but… I don’t know.  After what she did to us, it feels like justice.”

“You didn’t destroy her marriage.  She did that to herself.  She’s paying the price for her own actions.”  Gold couldn’t bring himself to celebrate Milah’s downfall, and from the look on his son’s face, Bae felt the same way.  At the same time, he couldn’t exactly muster up much sympathy for her either.  She was reaping what she’d sown.

Bae nodded.  “So… you’re all caught up now.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the answers you wanted.”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.  Understanding why she did it wouldn’t have changed anything.”  Bae leaned back against the corner of the sofa, his face pensive, and for a split second, he looked a bit like Belle.  

“We can’t change the past.  All we can do is move forward,” Gold agreed, his breath catching in his throat when his son gave him a crooked smile.

“You really like Emma?”

“I _really_ like Emma,” he confirmed.  He was already coming to realize that Emma’s spine was made of pure steel, something that would serve her well with Bae.  Even if he hadn’t appreciated her dry sense of humor, Gold couldn’t help but like anyone who made his son happy.

“The girls are probably wondering what happened to us.”

“Shall we go find them?” Gold offered.  He didn’t think that he would ever grow tired of just talking with Bae, but it was hardly polite to abandon Belle and Emma.

“Yeah.”  Gold mirrored Bae’s actions as his son stood, then let out a grunt of surprise when Bae suddenly embraced him.  Tears burned his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his boy, hugging back for everything he was worth.

It was over far too soon, and when Bae released him, his son’s eyes were red.  “I missed you, Papa.”

Gold wasn’t sure if he was talking about the last two months or the last twenty-five years, but it didn’t really matter.  Either way, he agreed wholeheartedly.  “I missed you too, Bae.  I’m glad you’re home.”

Bae had a home of his own in Tallahassee, but this house had been waiting for him for twenty-five years.  Now that he was under its roof, it was complete for the first time.  For that matter, so was Gold.

They found Belle and Emma in the kitchen, surrounded by fixings for grilled cheese sandwiches.  “You can’t be serious.  We just had dinner!”

Emma shrugged off Bae’s teasing.  “Pregnant,” she reminded him.

“And what’s your excuse?” Gold asked as he moved closer to Belle.

His wife giggled.  “I just like grilled cheese.”

Gold had never had much of an opinion on the sandwich one way or the other, but eating grilled cheese sandwiches around the kitchen table with his wife, son, and daughter-in-law might well have been the pinnacle of his existence.  Every person in the world he cared about was under his roof, safe and sound, and even if there were still some issues that needed to be ironed out, everyone was getting along.  Life simply didn’t get any better than this.

* * *

“I noticed that you and Neal disappeared for a while,” Belle said later that night as she left the bedroom’s en suite bath after changing into her pajamas.  “Is everything okay?”

Gold had passed the time spent waiting for his own turn in the bathroom by looking around the bedroom like he’d never seen it before.  They’d agreed to share the bedroom during Bae and Emma’s visit so as not to call attention to their marital issues, but now Gold was questioning the wisdom of that decision.  He’d forgotten how intimate it was to share such a private space.

Her question snapped him out of his reverie.  “He was concerned that my silence at dinner meant that I disapproved of Emma.”

“Oh no.”  Belle crossed to stand in front of him, her blue eyes distressed.  “You were just overwhelmed by having them here.”

He marveled at how well she understood him.  “Fortunately, he believed me when I told him that.  That’s actually not what we spent most of the time talking about.”

“Oh?”  Belle raised an eyebrow.

“Let me get changed, then I’ll tell you,” he promised.  Once, he would have thought nothing about stripping down in front of her, but those days of easy intimacy were behind them.  All he could do was hope that one day they would be able to get them back.

Once he’d completed his evening ablutions, Gold claimed his spot on the bed, leaning against the headboard next to Belle.  Like this, it was almost possible to believe that the night at the beach and the last two months had been nothing but a bad dream.  “Bae went to see Milah.”

It didn’t take long to tell Belle the story, and by the time he was finished, his wife looked horrified.  “So, not only did she not look for Neal when he went missing, she lied to her husband so he wouldn’t look either?  That’s insane!  What if he’d been kidnapped?  Or joined a cult?  What if he was in trouble and needed their help?  How could _anyone_ be that selfish?”

“That’s Milah,” Gold said simply.  “Hopper said something interesting a few sessions ago—people who were abused as children tend to choose abusive partners.  I married a woman who’s just like my father, and Bae paid the price.”

Belle pressed her lips together hard as she drew her knees up in a defensive posture.  When Gold found himself reaching for her, he hastily aborted the movement, not sure what he’d said to upset her.  “Belle?”

“Was he including me in that?”

When he realized what she was asking, Gold wanted to cry.  “Oh, sweetheart… Of course not.  How could you ever think that?”  How could she ever compare herself to Milah?

“I went behind your back when I was trying to find Neal… I made unilateral decisions about our marriage… I’m withholding affection from you…  I… I feel…”  She ticked her perceived sins off on her fingers, her voice faltering.

“No,” Gold said firmly, covering her hand with his own to force her to stop counting.  “You may have made mistakes, but everything you did came from a place of love.  You were trying to protect me by not telling me about Bae.  As for the rest of it…  You were hurt and you were scared.  That’s my fault.  But we’re working through it.”

He laced his fingers through hers, relieved when she squeezed his hand.  “You are not withholding your affection.  We may not be having sex, but I have _never_ felt more loved than I have these last two months.  That’s because of you, sweetheart.”

Belle didn’t say anything, but she slowly uncurled her legs, visibly relaxing, and the softening of her posture encouraged him to continue.  “I realized something earlier tonight.”

She glanced up, curiosity overtaking her dark mood.  “What’s that?”

“Milah never loved Bae.  She wasn’t capable of it.  It wasn’t his fault.  He didn’t do or say anything wrong.  She just doesn’t have that in her.”

“Of course it wasn’t his fault.  Neal’s _wonderful_.”  Her passionate defense of his son made him smile.

“I married a woman just like my father.  He didn’t love me, but it wasn’t my fault.  It was him.  There was something broken in him, the same thing that’s broken inside of Miah.”  Gold held Belle’s gaze, willing her to understand where he was going.

She gasped softly.  “Diarmid… Are you saying…?”

“I am worthy of love.”  It was the first time he’d said the words aloud and believed them.

Belle’s eyes went glassy.  “Yes, you are.”

Using their clasped hands, she tugged him closer, and Gold went willingly, swallowing a groan when her lips touched his.  It took every bit of self control he had to let her set the pace, the kiss slow and tender, shaking him to his core.  With her lips and tongue, Belle laid him bare, caressing more than his body.  His wife was touching his soul.

Too soon, she broke away, leaving him moaning in protest.  Gentle fingers brushed over his lips, and when he opened his eyes, Belle’s smile was sad.  “I’m sorry.”

He took a deliberate breath, forcing himself to relax.  “No, you’re right.  Bae and Emma are just down the hall.”

For an instant, Belle looked like she was going to argue, then her face smoothed into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “It’s much too soon to scar them for life.”

He was missing something.  Gold was suddenly certain of that, but he wasn’t sure how to ask.  When Belle turned away to extinguish her light, the conversation seemed to be closed.  Yet there was a new tension in the room that he couldn’t ignore.

Taking a stab in the dark, he tried to guess what was upsetting her.  They’d been sleeping separately for months, and sharing a bed might be too much intimacy for her.  She’d been very clear that she wasn’t ready to resume the physical aspects of their relationship, and while she’d slept with him on his office couch, having him back in their marital bed was another thing entirely.  “Would you prefer it if I slept in the chair?”

“What?  No.  No, this is fine.”  She sounded like she meant it, so Gold moved to lie down, careful to keep to his own side of the bed.

“I’m happy to listen if you want to talk,” he offered softly.  When she didn’t respond, he risked teasing her a little.  “You’ve talked me off many a ledge.  I’d be a poor husband indeed if I wasn’t willing to return the favor.”

In the darkness, Belle sucked in a harsh breath, then her hand found his beneath the covers and held on tight.  “I know Dr. Hopper wanted to work with you alone for three months before we started marriage counseling.  Do… do you think he’d be willing to work with me one-on-one while we wait?”

“I’m sure he will.  I’ll call for an appointment for you tomorrow if you’d like.”  He did his best to sound calm and confident even as his mind raced.  What could Belle want to speak with Hopper about?  Try as he might, he couldn’t begin to guess, and that was a problem.  Was he really so self-centered that he hadn’t noticed that his wife was struggling?

“I’d like that.”  She squeezed his hand.

She seemed content to let the matter rest there, but Gold wasn’t.  “Belle, have I been… remiss?  If there’s something bothering you that I didn’t notice…”

“You didn’t do _anything_ wrong,” she assured him.  “Honestly, I’m not sure _I_ even noticed something was off until tonight.  And it might be nothing.  But it seems like Dr. Hopper is really helping you, so I thought maybe he could help me sort a few things out too.”

When she put it like that, the situation didn’t seem so dire.  “I’ll call first thing in the morning,” he promised.

“Thank you.”  She leaned in to him just long enough to press a kiss to his cheek before resuming her former position.  To Gold, she seemed a bit more relaxed now.

“You know that you can talk to me about anything, don’t you?  I will do anything in my power to help you.”  If Belle knew nothing else, it was important that she believed that.

“I know.  And I _do_ want to talk to you about it.  I just want to talk to Dr. Hopper first if you don’t mind.  I feel like I need to get it all straightened out in my head before I tell you.  Otherwise, I’m just going to confuse both of us.”  

“I don’t mind at all.”  That wasn’t entirely true.  Gold desperately wanted to know what was happening in Belle’s head, but if she wasn’t ready to share it with him, he had to respect that.  He’d already learned so many things over the course of their relationship.  Now, he would have to learn patience.

Belle gave his hand another squeeze.  “You’re a good husband.”

He could hear the sincerity in her voice, and the invisible sword that had been hanging over his neck vanished.  There was no reason to panic.  Belle had a few things she wanted to sort out with Hopper, and she had every intention of sharing her thoughts with him once she’d done that.  He, of all people, knew what it was like to need some time to process before talking things out.  

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him.  She just needed time, and he could give her that.  When she was ready, she would come to him, and they would tackle her problem the same way they’d tackled everything else.

Together.


	40. Chapter 40

As Gold paced the living room, his cane clicking against the hardwood floor, he realized that for the past two months he hadn’t been giving Belle nearly enough credit.  Therapy was agonizing and enlightening by turns, and he’d been so caught up in the emotional upheaval of the process that he’d never once thought about how hard it must be to be the person left waiting at home, worrying over their partner’s state of mind.

No matter what state he was in when he dragged himself home after a session, Belle always knew exactly what do and say to reassure him.  More than anything, Gold wanted to offer her the same support.  He was her husband.  He was supposed to be her rock, her shelter from the storm.  No matter what happened to her, she should feel utterly safe and secure with him.  He’d sell his soul to ensure that happened.

He just didn’t know what to _do_.

Right now, Belle was sitting with Hopper and baring her soul.  She was sharing the worries and fears she hadn’t been able to voice to him, and he had no idea how she was going to feel about that when she came home.

Should he be waiting with a cup of tea and a soft blanket to wrap around her?   A bowl of apple soup?  A full bottle of whiskey and some cheap glassware to smash?  Perhaps he should have bought a punching bag and had it installed in the garage so she could vent any rage the session had stirred up.  Maybe she would want to listen to music and soak in the tub or eat an entire bag of potato chips and watch a ridiculous movie to take her mind off of things.

Gold glanced at the clock, groaning when he saw that only five minutes had passed.  Between the session and the drive home, Belle wouldn’t be back for at least another forty minutes.  That was plenty of time to drive himself mad.

He collapsed onto the couch and inhaled to the count of four before releasing the breath to the count of eight, a trick Hopper had taught him to calm his racing mind.  After repeating the exercise a handful of times, he felt less like his bones were vibrating with tension.  

To distract himself, he glanced around the room, mentally picturing moments from Bae and Emma’s visit.  The two of them had returned to Tallahassee days ago, but the house still seemed to ring with the memory of their laughter.  

The visit had gone well, and Gold smiled a little as he wondered which of them was the most surprised about it.  It felt like he and Bae had made real progress, and Emma and Belle had hit it off almost immediately, the two women bonding over their similar tastes in food.  Familiar as he was with Belle’s eating habits, Gold had still been astonished by just how much his wife was capable of eating in a single sitting.  Since he was hoping to get off his office couch some time in the next decade, he’d been careful not to mention it.

Moving back out of the bedroom after Bae and Emma left had been… awkward.  Belle had perched on the edge of the bed, her face troubled, while he once again gathered his things.  Gold could feel her gaze against his back, but she hadn’t said a word either to hurry him on his way or ask him to stay.

In the end, he’d hesitated just inside the door, trying to give her every opportunity to share her thoughts.  “I’m grateful that you let me share the room.”

Belle seemed to shake off her dark mood.  “It was nothing.”

Hesitant of making a mistake, Gold pushed a little harder.  “I very much enjoyed sleeping next to you.  I’ve missed that.”

“I missed it too.”  Belle smiled sadly.  “The weekend was… nice.”

“Very nice,” he agreed.

When she lapsed into silence, Gold threw caution to the wind.  He would show her his throat, and if she rejected him, he’d accept it.  “Belle, if you want me to stay, just say the word.  I would be overjoyed.  If you’re not comfortable, that’s _fine_.  I’ll sleep in my office for the next year if that’s what you want, but if you think I don’t want to come back, _don’t._ ”

“Oh, Diarmid…”  Belle hopped off the bed to cross to him.  With his hands full, he couldn’t reach out to embrace her, but his chest warmed when she rested her hand on top of his on the handle of his cane.  “I do want you to come back.  I _miss_ you.  I just can’t.  I’m not ready yet.  I’m _sorry_.”

Her face was so anguished that Gold cursed himself for pushing her.  “No, don’t be sorry.  I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him.  “You were just being honest.  And I appreciate that.”

“I just wanted to make sure we understood each other.”  He’d taken a risk, and although it hadn’t paid off, he couldn’t regret it.  Now he knew that she did want him to return to the bedroom, and whatever was preventing that didn’t feel personal.  Knowing that Belle missed having him sleep next to her soothed any injured feelings about his ongoing banishment.  

Maybe _that_ was what she wanted to talk to Hopper about, Gold reflected, the idea startling him.  It was only after he’d crawled into bed beside her that first night of Bae and Emma’s visit that she’d suggested speaking to the therapist.  It was probably presumptuous of him to assume that her therapy session was going to revolve around him, but all of the pieces fit.

The idea that he was the cause of her distress didn’t sit well with Gold.  Since the night at the beach, he’d been doing his best to attend to Belle’s needs, and he’d thought he was succeeding reasonably well.  If he’d been inadvertently hurting her this entire time, that didn’t bode well for their future.  If his best wasn’t good enough, he didn’t know what else he could give her.

Anger curdled in his gut at the thought.  This wasn’t fair.  He was _trying_.  If he was doing something wrong, Belle should have told him.  It wasn’t fair of her to give him no guidance and silently play judge and jury over him for his failures.  

Some tiny part of his mind recognized the dangerous pattern he was spiraling into.  Gold took a deep breath and focused on the anger.  After two months of therapy, he knew his own mind well enough to know that a large subset of his emotions tended to camouflage themselves as rage.  Was he really angry or was there something else going on here?

He breathed into the anger, and after a few moments, it dissipated, revealing the emotion that had been buried underneath: fear.  He wasn’t angry with Belle for not leading him by the nose.  He was frightened that even at his very best, he still wasn’t capable of being the man she deserved.  He wasn’t worthy of her.

Recognizing the fear made it easier to deal with.  That seed of inferiority had been planted by his father fifty-five years ago, and that meant it was nothing more than a weed, choking out better thoughts and beliefs.  He _was_ worthy of love, no matter how hard his father had tried to convince him otherwise.  Whether or not he was the man Belle deserved, he was the man she _wanted_.  She loved him.  She wanted their marriage to work.  There was nothing to be afraid of.  If he was coming up short, she would tell him and they would work through it.  

Gold rested his head against the back of the couch, feeling a little dizzy.  His entire body ached like he’d just fought his way out of the pull of a riptide, but his mind was quiet and calm.  Was this what it felt like to be emotionally healthy?  If so, he rather thought that he could get used to it.

The creak of the front door opening nearly made him jump out of his skin as he realized he’d completely lost track of time.  He hadn’t even decided what he should do to prepare for Belle’s return, let alone put those plans into action.  So much for being supportive.

As he groped for his cane, which had somehow ended up under the coffee table, Belle stepped into the living room.  “No, don’t get up.”

“I meant to meet you at the door,” he tried to explain, his heart aching when he saw the traces of tears on her face.  

“This is fine,” she assured him.

Gold held his breath as she moved closer, then unceremoniously deposited herself on his lap, straddling his thighs to rest her upper body against his and press her face against his throat, inhaling deeply.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her snuggle closer.  “Belle?  Sweetheart?”

He bit his tongue in an effort to silence himself.  He’d been where she was after a session.  The aching need to be held and soothed was one he knew well, and nagging her to talk to him wasn’t helping.  Gold slipped one arm around her waist, anchoring her against him as he slowly stroked her hair with his free hand.  “I’m here,” he whispered.  “It’s all right.  You’re safe.  I’ve got you.  I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Belle whimpered at the endearment and slid her hands into his hair, holding onto the shaggy locks like they were the only thing keeping her tethered to the planet.  

“That’s right.  Just breathe, sweetheart.  You’re okay.  I’m here,” he crooned, his heart swelling.  Not since Bae was a child had he felt so protective of the one in his arms.  Belle needed him right now, and if anyone tried to take her from him, he would tear them apart.  

After an eternity, her grip on his hair loosened and Belle looked up at him.  “Thank you.”

Gold pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “It was my pleasure, sweetheart.  What else can I do for you?”

“Just keep holding me,” Belle requested, adjusting her body until her position on his lap seemed more comfortable than desperate.  

“I’ll hold you forever.”  It was the easiest promise he’d ever made and the one he was the most eager to keep.

Belle closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder, her breathing deep and even.  “Actually, it went really well.  I thought I was okay.  Then, when I saw you sitting there… I don’t know.  I just really needed you to hold me.”

In this matter, Gold had some experience.  “You probably dredged up a lot of emotions during your session.  That can make anyone feel raw.”

“That’s a good word for it,” she agreed, and his spirit soared.  After too many misunderstandings, he was finally learning to communicate with his wife.

“It was a good session.”  Belle sighed.  “You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m not abusive.”

Gold had to replay her sentence several times in his head to make sure that he’d heard it right, and once he was certain he had, he felt a bit like he’d taken a blow to the solar plexus.  “Abusive?  Of course you’re not, sweetheart.  The thought never crossed my mind.  Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I feel better when you feel bad,” she said, her voice blunt.

While he was still blinking at that, Belle made a distressed noise and pressed closer.  “Oh, that sounds _terrible_.  I don’t mean it like that.  This is why I wanted to talk to Dr. Hopper first.”

For the life of him, it sounded like Belle was telling him that she enjoyed his suffering, but that couldn’t be right.  As many times as he’d misunderstood his wife, he refused to believe that he didn’t know her well enough to know that she wasn’t the sort of person who exalted in the misfortune of others, especially when the other in question was her husband.

“I just worry so much— about Dad and Neal and about us and about the fundraiser and about… But when you’re upset about something, it’s like a switch get turned and all that goes away.  I feel like I have it together.”  Belle’s nails scraped the back of his neck in distress.

“So, I thought that had to be wrong.  You feeling bad shouldn’t make me feel good.  It’s _sick_.”  Her voice was thick with loathing.

Gold’s mind raced, trying to make sense of her confession.  Belle wasn’t saying that she enjoyed his misery.  Rather, she was awkwardly giving voice to something Hopper had called his own attention to a few sessions ago.  “It’s not sick.  It’s normal.”

“Diarmid?”

Hopper had pointed out that he chose an abusive wife after growing up with an abusive father because that kind of relationship was familiar and comfortable for him.  Belle was doing the exact same thing, except she wasn’t used to being abused.  Her pattern was different.

“You’re used to taking care of your father.  That’s something that’s familiar to you.”  It hadn’t been a happy life, but after years of doing it, she’d worn herself into a groove.  “When I’m upset, you take care of me.  Of course that makes you feel better.  That dynamic is comfortable for you because you’re so used to it.”

For Belle, slipping into the caretaker role was like slipping into a pair of shoes that had been worn in until they molded to the owner’s feet.  Over the years she’d spent taking care of Moe, she’d gotten used to shoving everything except his needs to the back of her mind.  Now, she was doing the same thing with him.  If she was concentrating on giving him what he needed, she could shut her own worries off.

“That’s not abusive,” he continued.  “You’re not trying to hurt me or getting off on my pain.  You’re just slipping into a comfortable pattern.  Familiarity is easy.  Change is hard.”  He would know.

Belle lifted her head from his shoulder and gazed up at him, astonishment in her blue eyes.  “That’s _exactly_ what Dr. Hopper said.”

“Yes, well.  He’s _almost_ as smart as I am.”  

His lofty tone made her giggle.  “I should have just talked to you in the first place and saved some time!  I was afraid you would think I was horrible.   _I_ thought I was horrible.”

“Hardly.”  He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.  

“He says I need to find a healthier way to manage my worries,” Belle admitted.

Since he was currently attempting to reboot his entire brain, finding a healthy way to manage worry sounded like a perfectly manageable goal to Gold.  “That’s probably wise.  I’m happy to help in any way I can.  You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

He thought back over the worries she’d listed earlier.  Even though he was helping her with the fundraiser, it was natural that she worry about it since Cora was hovering like a vulture and undoubtedly willing Belle to fall flat on her face.  And worrying about Moe was as second-nature to her as breathing.  However, he wasn’t sure how he felt about their relationship being a cause of stress for her.  “You said you were worried about us.”

“I did.  I am.”  Belle bit her lip.  “We’ve come so far and everything is going so well.  I guess I’m worried that the other shoe is going to drop.”

Gold sincerely hoped they’d already weathered the worst that life had to offer them.  If they could get past his actions at the beach, they should be able to survive anything.  “If it does, we’ll work through it together.  I will _never_ give up on our marriage.  Someday, we’re going to start to piece that cup back together.”

“Oh, Diarmid.”  Belle cradled the side of his face in her hand.  “We’ve already started.  Things aren’t the same, but our relationship is stronger than it’s ever been because we understand each other so much more now.  You can still see the cracks, but I think the cup is in pretty good shape.”

She couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought he was hearing.  “You… you’re saying that you think you’ll be able to forgive me some day?”

Belle’s brow furrowed.  “Some day?  Diarmid, I already forgave you.  Didn’t you know?”

When he shook his head, dumbfounded, Belle’s expression fell.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t tell you, did I?  I should have.”

She took his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.  Holding his gaze, she said clearly, “I forgive you, Diarmid.”

Gold was unprepared for what those words did to him.  He swallowed a sob, a bizarre noise escaping his mouth.  This didn’t mean that everything between them was fixed.  Repairing their relationship was still going to take work, but if Belle had forgiven him, they had a secure foundation on which to build.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped, his throat painfully tight.

“I should have told you sooner.”  Belle gave him an abashed smile.  “It just never occurred to me that you didn’t know.  I guess we still have some work to do on our communication.”

“I assumed that it would be several years before you even considered forgiving me,” he admitted.

Her incredulous look made him chuckle.  “Several _years_?  I don’t think I could hold a grudge that long if I tried.  No.  You’re sorry, and you’re taking steps to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.  That’s enough to satisfy me.”

Her generosity was humbling.  Gold was half-tempted to ask if she was sure she didn’t want to rethink her position and hold off on offering him her forgiveness at least until they’d started working through marriage counseling, but at the last second, better sense prevailed.  If Belle had forgiven him, he would be foolish to argue with her.

Besides, they’d been talking about her, he remembered.  He was supposed to be supporting her in the aftermath of her therapy session.  “Your forgiveness means more to me than I can ever tell you, but I’m still concerned about you.  I want to help, but I don’t understand.  What is it that you’re so worried about, sweetheart?”

She and Hopper were going to work on coping strategies for her worries, but in the meantime, the least he could do was reassure her.  In order to do that, however, he had to understand just what was niggling at her.

“A lot of it is just sort of general, like, what if Dad gets worse?”  Belle bit her lip.  “I’m worried that things between me and Neal will get weird.  I mean, he’s older than me, and I’m supposed to be his stepmother.”

On that point, Gold could speak with authority.  “Bae has already informed me that you’re a far better stepparent than Killian was, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.  He’s very taken with you.”

“That actually makes me feel a lot better.”  Belle ran his tie through her fingers, focusing on the strip of silk.

She still seemed subdued, and Gold would have bet every cent that was in his bank account that there was something she wasn’t telling him.  “You said that most of your worries are general.  Does that mean that some of them aren’t?”

She stilled, the tie woven through her fingers.  “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to Dr. Hopper about.”

Her voice was reluctant, and he held his breath, waiting for her to continue her thought.  “I told you that I’m not ready for sex—”

“I don’t mind waiting,” he assured her before mentally kicking himself when he realized he’d interrupted her.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.  I didn’t mean to cut you off.  Please continue.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him, and the kiss she landed on his cheek assured him that his gaffe hadn’t offended her.  

“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted, a flush coloring her face.  “I mean… I _miss_ you.  But every time I think about it, I hear this voice in my head.”

Gold felt sick as he digested her words.  If Belle was hearing a voice in her head that was putting her off sex with him, it was all too easy to imagine whose voice it was and what it was saying.  “Go on.”

“It calls me a whore,” she whispered, confirming his worst fears.

“That’s my fault,” he choked out, his heart aching.  He’d used that word against her like a weapon that horrible night at the beach, and his blow had struck more deeply than he’d imagined.  “Belle, I am _so_ sorry.”

No wonder she wasn’t ready to be intimate with him when she could still hear the echo of his voice saying that dreadful thing.  Belle had forgiven him for his stupidity, but there was no forgetting what he’d said.

“No.”

At first he thought she was refusing to accept his apology, but as Belle gave his tie a gentle tug, he was forced to amend that thought.  She didn’t look angry at him.  Her eyes were pensive, but there was no resentment in them.  

“Actually, it’s Greg’s voice.  He called me a whore the day I gave him back his ring.  I thought that I put all that behind me, but I think the night at the beach stirred everything up again.”  Belle met his gaze, her mouth quirking in a rueful smile.  “I did the same thing you did—shoved it down and ignored it.  Now I have to deal with it.”

“You are _not_ a whore.”  He should have had it out with Greg when he had the chance.  Gold focused on his anger at the other man, using it as ballast so he didn’t drown in his own guilt.  He could process that later.  Right now, Belle needed him to be present for her.

“No, but I did some things I’m not proud of.  The whole thing with Greg… Marrying you for your money…”

“We married for love,”  On that point, Gold refused to be swayed.  “I was too much of a fool to realize it at the time, but you knew.  I asked you to marry me because I love you, and you accepted because you love me.  It was always about love.  Even if you’d married Greg, you _still_ would have been marrying for love.”

“You know I don’t have feelings for Greg,” Belle reminded him.

“I’m not talking about Greg.  I’m talking about your father.  Everything you did, you did for love of him.    It was never about the money.  It was about _him_.”  

Gold had the feeling that he wasn’t explaining himself particularly well, but he could see wonder dawning in Belle’s eyes.  “I never thought about it like that.”

With a sigh, she snuggled into him.  “That helps.  Thank you.”

Gold wrapped his arms around her, adjusting her more comfortably against him.  If Belle chose to spend the rest of the night on his lap, he’d be nothing but thankful for the chance to comfort her.  “We’ll get through this.  It’s hard at first, but it gets better.  You’ll see.”

He shook his head at himself, wondering when he’d become an optimist.  Somehow, he had a feeling that Belle had more to do with that transformation than any amount of therapy did.

Clearly, she was wondering the same thing because she gave his ribs a teasing prod.  “Was that optimism I just heard?  Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?”

If she could laugh, things couldn’t be that bad.  “If you refuse to do your wifely duty of being the eternal optimist, I’ll simply have to pick up your slack.”

Too late, he realized that it would be easy to take his words as criticism, but Belle only laughed.  “I think we just discovered the secret to a happy marriage.  One of us has to be optimistic and emotionally stable at all times.  I did it for months.  Now, it’s your turn.”

Gold chuckled, but the more he thought about it, the less like a joke it seemed.  “That’s actually not a bad idea.”  Belle had been his emotional rock since he started therapy, now he was getting a chance to return the favor.

“It isn’t, is it?”  She smiled against his throat.  “Look at us go.  We might get the hang of this marriage thing yet.”

Gold rested his cheek against her hair, content to do nothing more than this for the rest of the night.  “We’re getting better at it every day.”


	41. Chapter 41

Gold held his breath as he placed the final piece and took a step back to admire his handiwork.  Save for a small chip missing from the rim, the teacup was once again whole, albeit marred by a network of cracks.

With careful hands, he replaced the glass cover, aware that the apparent solidity of the cup was nothing more than an illusion.  He hadn’t used a single drop of glue as he pieced the teacup back together, and the slightest breeze or vibration would once again reduce it to nothing more than a pile of broken china.

He’d assembled it like a puzzle, meaning only to verify that all the pieces still fit together with nothing missing.  Since Gold had thought of it as nothing more than an exercise to gather information, he’d been unprepared for how seeing the restored cup would affect him.

It was the perfect metaphor for his marriage—outwardly intact save for some hairline cracking, yet unable to withstand the slightest shock.  Belle had forgiven him for his deplorable treatment of her, and both of them were making headway in therapy, but he was all too aware of how thin the ice was beneath them.  Rebuilding trust was a long, slow process.  It had taken two months for Belle to feel comfortable coming to him with her worries.  It would be longer yet before he’d built up enough good will for her to give him the benefit of the doubt should he blunder again.

If the slightest mistake would send them sliding back to square one, he’d just have to be careful not to make any mistakes.  Gold tore his eyes from the cup to look down over himself, verifying that his appearance was flawless.  Belle had asked him to accompany her today as she ran a few errands in town, and he was determined to make the most of the day.

Other than visits to Ariel’s boutique, they’d spent little time out and about together in Storybrooke.  The house was their world, their own private sanctuary.  Now, as he walked down the street with his wife’s arm through his own, Gold realized he’d been missing out.  It was a pleasure to see Belle’s bright smile as she greeted the people they passed and to bask in the admiring looks she received in return.  Everyone in Storybrooke seemed to know and like Belle, and that was as it should be.  In Boston, she’d been invisible, but here she was part of a community.

It was a gift he’d given her by his absence, Gold thought ruefully once he noticed that although everyone smiled at Belle, few paused to speak with her once they noticed his presence at her side.  As the owner of most of Storybrooke, its residents treated him with wary deference, but respect wasn’t the same as friendship.

For her part, Belle didn’t seem to mind that no one stopped to chat.  “This is nice,” she murmured as she pressed a little closer for warmth.  It had been a mild autumn, but the wind was growing colder and more insistent by the day.  Soon there would be cozy evenings by the fire to look forward to.

But he was getting ahead of himself.  Right now, it was autumn and he was walking arm-in-arm with his wife.  Nothing that the future held could be more enticing than the present.  “I’m glad you invited me.”

“Me too.”  Belle looked up at him, her face alight with nervous energy.  “I’m going to need the moral support.”

“You’ll do beautifully,” he assured her.  Over the past several weeks, a plan for the upcoming fundraiser had come together, and Gold was dazzled by his wife’s ambition.  Instead of the usual dinner and dancing that was Cora’s signature, Belle had gone in a completely different direction—planning an interactive mystery themed to a dark version of _Alice in Wonderland_.  She’d sourced actors from a prestigious, albeit small, arts school in Massachusetts, and today she would be selecting her cast.

To that end, Gold had laid claim to the largest conference room in City Hall for the auditions, and they had just enough time to get themselves organized before the actors—a loud group of impossibly attractive twenty-somethings—arrived.  Gold schooled his face into forbidding lines, prepared to put the fear of his wrath into them should they refuse to cooperate with Belle, but the actors scarcely gave him a second look.

He’d almost forgotten that Belle had been involved with her college theater program.

From the moment the audition started, Gold forgot about being intimidating.  Even though Belle had been nervous about the session, none of that showed in her demeanor.  As she put the actors through their paces, she radiated complete confidence.  If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed she’d been working in professional theater since she was in her teens.

Watching Belle demonstrate what she wanted the actors to do revealed a side of his wife that he’d never seen before, and Gold was entranced.  It was as though she’d unexpectedly revealed that she was fluent in a foreign language or could dance a perfect Argentine tango.  This was Belle in her natural habitat, and the audition was over far too quickly to suit him when he wanted only to watch her sparkle.  He’d never seen her look so _vibrant_.

“Oh, that was so much fun!” she bubbled as she collapsed into the seat beside him after she showed the actors out.  

She rifled through the stack of headshots.  “I’m thinking Ana as the Red Queen, and Will as the Knave of Hearts.  Alice is the obvious choice for Alice.  I think I like Cyrus as the Mad Hatter just a _little_ bit more than I liked Lance, although he might work as the Caterpillar.  I don’t think I’m going to use Arthur or Keith.  There’s something about them that just makes my skin crawl.”

Once the pictures were arrayed in front of them, she glanced up at him, her face anxious.  “Or were you thinking something else?”

“I’m thinking that I’m going to buy you a theater.”

Belle tossed her head back and laughed, an enchanting sound.  “I might take you up on that!  I didn’t realize how much I missed doing stuff like this.  Storybrooke doesn’t have a community theater league, does it?  Maybe that can be my new project once the fundraiser is over.  Archie thinks I need one.”

If buying a theater would improve Belle’s mental health and give him the opportunity to watch her perform, he’d put a down payment on New York’s entire theater district.  After years of caring for Moe and months of devoting herself to the care and feeding of her husband, Belle needed something that was hers alone.

“You can star in every show, and I’ll lead the standing ovation every night,” Gold promised, the mental image making him catch his breath.  He’d sit front and center for every performance and shower her with roses and sunflowers after each one.

“You’re giving me credit for more acting talent than I actually have, but I appreciate the sentiment.”  Belle gave him a fond look.  “But seriously, do you agree with my casting?”

“Wholeheartedly,” he assured her, even though he’d been too enraptured by her to even remember which name went with which actor’s face, much less have an opinion on which part would be best suited for each.

“I think this is going to work,” she announced as she shuffled the pictures back into a pile and tucked them into her bag.  

“Of course it is.”  Cora’s parties, although always elegant, had been growing more tedious by the year.  Belle’s unconventional ideas would breathe new life into a staid tradition.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re my husband, are you?” Belle asked as they gathered their things.

“I’m saying that because, as your husband, I have absolute confidence in you.”  When he saw that Belle still looked less than convinced, he attempted to sweeten the pot.  “In fact, I have so much confidence in you that I am going to match every dollar that you raise for stroke research.”

Belle nearly fell over her own feet at his announcement, letting the visitors to City Hall stream past them as she stopped to stare up at him in disbelief.  “You… you’ll do that?  For Dad?”

“For Moe and for you.”  Between building Belle’s confidence and the research itself, he could imagine no better cause to spend his money on.

Belle’s lips were softly parted with her rapid breath, her eyes shining, and for one insane moment, Gold thought she was going to leap into his arms right there in the middle of City Hall.  He wasn’t sure whether to be dismayed or relieved when she only looped her arm through his, pressing close as she led the way out of the building.

“I want to be noble and say that all I care about is raising money to help people like Dad, but I _really_ want to show Cora up,” she confided.

Gold chuckled at her admission.  “And I really want to help you do just that.  Cora has been too comfortable on her perch at the top of society.  It’s time to shake things up.”

Her other idea for the fundraiser should do just that.  Belle had hired local artist Jefferson Madden to create a small sculpture that would be awarded to the person who solved the mystery.  Madden was developing a devoted following among art lovers, his work commanding high prices.  However, Gold was well aware that for the people who attended the fundraiser, the sculpture itself was almost beside the point.  They were the kind of people who liked to win and who would go to great lengths to do so.  By adding an element of competition, Belle had ensured a night where the players brought as much intrigue to the table as the actors did.

Corporate spying, sabotage, and trading insider information was a way of life.  Gold couldn’t imagine anything his contemporaries would like more than the chance to spend an evening openly putting those skills to use.  Simply interacting with the actors to solve the mystery was for amateurs.  Why do that when they could have the fun of planting misinformation and stealing each other’s insights?  The person who solved the mystery first would have the satisfaction of knowing that he or she was truly the wiliest of them all.  The sculpture was just icing on the cake.

Neither of them mentioned that fact to Madden when they dropped by his studio to check on his progress.  His style was a bit more modern than Gold preferred, but Belle looked like she’d been turned loose in a candy store when the artist offered to give her a guided tour of his collection.

There was one piece that she kept gravitating to, and Gold was careful to keep his face neutral as he made his plans.  To him, the sculpture looked like little more than a mutant mushroom, but if Belle liked it, she would have it.  It had been too long since he last bought his wife a gift.

Surprising her with it was going to be the hard part. He loved having her tucked against his side, but her proximity made it impossible to do anything without her knowledge since shooting meaningful looks at Madden over Belle’s head just made the artist look confused.

Inspiration struck as they were on their way out of the studio.  “You go on ahead, sweetheart.  I’ll just be another moment.”

“What did you forget?” she asked with a knowing look.

“To ask Madden where his restroom is.”  It was an undignified excuse, but it was the only thing he could think of that Belle couldn’t offer to help him with.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” she promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek before slipping out the front.  

The moment the door closed behind her, Gold was off and running.  “How much for the mushroom?”

In hindsight, the question was a mistake.  Madden made him endure a ten minute lecture about the symbolism and themes behind the sculpture before he would allow Gold to purchase it, a process that was more akin to adopting a child than making an acquisition.  By the time he’d finished assuring the artist that the sculpture was going to a good home where no one smoked and it would be properly displayed and insured, Gold realized that Belle was going to think he had serious digestive issues.

Finally, they completed plans for the sculpture’s delivery, and Gold left the studio feeling like he’d barely escaped with his life.  The moment he was outside, his gaze found Belle waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, and he was so focused on her that it took him half a second to realize that she wasn’t alone.

So deep was she in conversation with an angular-faced man with close-cropped dark hair that Belle didn’t even look up as he descended the stairs, and Gold ground his teeth as he recognized her companion.  Apparently Isaac Heller had given up on his plan to travel the country collecting material for his next book.  Lack of funds did tend to put a damper on such things.  

Pausing on the step just behind Belle to give himself a height advantage over the taller man, Gold rested his left hand on his wife’s shoulder to make sure Heller saw the wedding ring.  “I see that you’ve once again decided to grace Storybrooke with your presence.”

Belle glanced back at him over her shoulder.  “Isaac’s a writer!  Did you know that?”

Heller shifted his weight from foot to foot as Gold gave him his most vicious smile.  “I should probably be going.”

Before he made good on his offer to leave them in peace, Heller leaned down, lowering his voice to speak solely to Belle.  “Maybe we can meet up some time to discuss my proposal.  I would relish the opportunity to introduce you to my work.”

Gold was tempted to introduce the other man to his cane.  “That will _not_ be happening.  My wife has no interest in your proposal and neither do I.  I’ll thank you not to bother her again.”  

Under his hand, Gold felt Belle’s shoulder tense.  The moment Heller was out of earshot, she shook off his touch and rounded on him, her eyes blazing.  “What the hell was that?”

“Excuse me?”  He blinked at her harsh tone.

She shook her head.  “Unbelievable.  Have you learned _nothing_ from the past three months?”

Gold winced when he realized what she must be thinking.  “I know there is nothing going on between you and Heller.  I have absolute faith in you.”

For some reason, his words made no appreciable difference in her mood.  Belle just glared at him for a long moment before stepping back.  “We are not having this conversation here.  I’m going home.”

“Belle!”

She turned on her heel, setting off for the house at a pace that was nearly a jog, and it took everything Gold had to keep up with her.  As they walked, his mind moved faster than his feet, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.  This wasn’t the night at the beach where he’d accused her of cheating.  He’d made it clear that it hadn’t even occurred to him to question her faithfulness.  Even if he didn’t know that Belle loved him, he knew she had better taste than to dally with Heller.

“I don’t understand why you’re angry.  What did I do?” he asked once they’d locked the front door behind them.  The housekeeper was gone for the day, and soft strains of Elvis music were coming from upstairs, indicating that Dove and Moe were otherwise occupied.  They had as much privacy as they ever did in the house.

Belle stared at him.  “You’re serious, aren’t you?  You really don’t know.”

Gold held his hand out in supplication.  “I want to understand.”

“Does this ring a bell?  You are my husband, not my owner, and you do _not_ get to tell me what to do!”  

Her words hit him like a blow.  Belle feeling powerless in their relationship was the crux of their problem.  At the beach, he’d taken pleasure in lording his control over her, and he’d vowed never to make that mistake again.  Apparently, it was a promise he hadn’t kept.

Gold replayed the interaction with Heller, frowning when he realized she had a point.  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t mean it?” Belle asked in disbelief.  “You made it clear that I wasn’t allowed to talk to Isaac, and you didn’t _mean_ it?”

“I wasn’t controlling you.  I was protecting you,” Gold protested.  In hindsight, his behavior looked bad, but he’d had the purest of intentions.

Belle regarded him for a moment, and he watched her chest move as she took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled.  Apparently Hopper had taught both of them the trick.  “I’m listening.”

“Let’s sit down first,” he requested.  The pair of them facing off in the foyer felt too combative.  If they could sit together on the sofa, it would reframe the situation from a fight to a misunderstanding that they could overcome.

To his disappointment, Belle opted for the armchair that faced the sofa, but at least she was willing to hear him out.  “May I guess what Heller was proposing to discuss?  I assume he wanted money.”

Belle lifted her chin.  “He was offering me a business deal, not begging for a loan.  In return for fronting him the money for cover art and a print run of his latest book, I would get a cut of the net profit.”

“We agreed you wouldn’t lend money to the people of Storybrooke,” he reminded her.

“ _Business deal_ , not loan,” Belle bit out.  “And I’m not stupid.  I would have talked to you and Midas before I agreed to anything.”

“I know you’re not stupid.  I didn’t mean to imply that you are,” he tried to soothe her ruffled feathers.  “You simply don’t know Heller the way that I do.”

Belle’s curiosity overcame her irritation.  Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees.  “What did he do?”

“Several years ago he came to me with a very similar proposal.  Since I was unimpressed with his first novel, I chose not to finance his second.”  Gold supposed that Heller’s brand of small-town gothic probably appealed to some demographic, but the author’s tortured writing style did less than nothing for him.

“Imagine my surprise when he sent me a complimentary copy of his second novel, and I found myself immortalized in its pages.”  Gold’s mouth twisted at the memory.  

“He wrote about you?”

“A most unflattering caricature with just enough artistic license taken that Midas had no recourse.  He depicted me as the crippled and miserly overlord of a small town in Vermont.  I found it quite odious.”  His only comfort lay in knowing that Heller’s readership was so small that no one he knew would ever stumble across the characterization and recognize him.

Belle leaned back in her seat and gave him a doubtful look.  “You don’t think you’re being the slightest bit paranoid?  Maybe he sent you the book because he hoped you’d like it so much that you changed your mind.  The character you describe is a stock archetype that could come out of a Dickens novel.  There’s no reason to assume—“

“Mr. Copper who lives in a lilac mansion?”

From the look of distaste on Belle’s face, he’d made his point.  “Okay.  Yeah.  You’re probably right.  It sounds like Isaac is petty as hell.”

“He killed me off via auto-erotic asphyxiation.”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted.  “Petty and vindictive,” she amended.  “I understand why you dislike him.”

“So you understand why I didn’t want him anywhere near you.”  Having Heller take shots at him in print was one thing, but if the author did it to Belle, Gold would be forced to take drastic action.

“I understand.”  Belle held his gaze, her face stern.  “ _However_ , that doesn’t make it okay for you to make decisions for me.”

“I wasn’t—“ Gold instinctively protested before his better judgement caught up with him.  He’d spoken for Belle with Heller instead of allowing her to speak for herself and warned the other man off of her like she was a piece of property whose borders he was defending.  

Taking a deep breath, he tried to choose his words carefully.  “I didn’t mean to undermine or control you.  I let my protective instincts get the better of me, and I’m sorry.”

Belle’s face softened.  “I don’t mind that you watch out for me.  Actually, I like it.  I just don’t like it when you’re high-handed.  By all means, tell me that Isaac’s a shady jerk.  If there’s something I don’t know, I want you to fill me in.  But it has to be _my_ choice what I do with that information.  If I make a mistake, oh well.  I’d rather fall on my face than let someone else make my decisions for me.”

“I understand.  If… if you want to become Heller’s patron, I won’t protest.”  The words pained him, but they were the right thing to say.

“I have to admit that I liked the idea of sponsoring a struggling artist, but now that I know what he did to you?”  Belle shook her head.  “No way am I contributing to that cause.  If Isaac wants my support, he shouldn’t have been cruel to my husband.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”  Despite his gaffe, she was still on his side, and the knowledge warmed him.

“I do want to read his books though, at least the second one.”  At his look, Belle gave an unrepentant shrug.  “I’m curious about this Mr. _Copper_.”

The exaggerated way she said the name made Gold chuckle, his spirit feeling lighter.  Perhaps if he and Belle could laugh together at the cruel caricature, it would lose its sting.  “I’ll lend you my copy.  I’d rather avoid giving Heller a single penny in royalties.”

It wasn’t until Belle left her chair to claim the spot beside him that Gold realized what had just happened.  He’d made a mistake and lapsed into the old bad habit that had nearly destroyed their marriage, but he and Belle had navigated the issue.  They’d talked— _really_ talked—and now she was leaning against him as she reached down to tug off her shoes.

“I like to think that I’m a really good judge of character, but maybe I’m not,” she said thoughtfully.  “Maybe I should talk to Archie about that.”

Gold considered that for a moment.  “I think you’re just inclined to see the best in people.  It’s not a character flaw.”  If she hadn’t decided to see the best in him, they wouldn’t be married right now.  

She snickered.  “And you’re inclined to see the worst.  It’s a good thing we’re married.  We balance each other out.”

She wasn’t holding his mistake against him, Gold realized, feeling a little faint.  Already, the incident with Heller was behind them.  Instead of being a source of gut-wrenching trauma that threatened the very foundation of their marriage, this afternoon was nothing more than a bump in the road.  He’d screwed up again, but it hadn’t ruined everything.  

Maybe the cup wasn’t as fragile as he thought it was.

Gold wrapped his arm around Belle and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “We’re a perfect match.”


	42. Chapter 42

“Diarmid, would you like to start?”

Gold took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Hopper’s gaze on him as he reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve the paper on which he’d spent the past week writing notes.  At the end of his most recent individual therapy session, Hopper had asked him to spend some time coming up with his personal definition of a perfect marriage in preparation for his first shared session with Belle, and Belle had been given the same homework assignment.  Now, with the three of them finally in the same room at the same time, it was time to share.

There was something painfully awkward about marriage counseling.  For the first fifteen minutes of the session, he and Belle had done nothing but outline their shared history for Hopper, the therapist’s questions casual and noninvasive.  It was a pattern that Gold recognized from the start of his own individual therapy.  Hopper was giving them time to get comfortable, but he was also paying careful attention to every detail from observing their body language to noting which of them spoke first or more volubly.  

Despite his relaxed posture, Hopper was forming all sorts of judgements and conclusions about their marriage, and the thought sent a chill through Gold as he wondered what the therapist saw when he looked at the two of them.  What flaws was he making careful note of?  Were they weak spots that he and Belle already knew about or were they landmines in their relationship that had yet to detonate?

He didn’t realize he’d frozen until Belle put her hand on his thigh and squeezed, shifting closer to him on the couch until she was firmly pressed against his side, offering him her silent support.  Out of the corner of his eye, Gold saw her encouraging smile, and he leaned into her, drawing on her strength until he felt less like there was a anvil dangling above his head.  If Hopper found a hundred problem spots in their marriage, he and Belle would work together to fix them all.  

“Why don’t you start with the basics?” Hopper prompted gently.  “In an perfect world, how would you and Belle spend your time?”

Hopper had instructed him to think about time from a daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly perspective and make some decisions.  How much time did he want to spend with his wife each day?  Ideally, how much time would they allot to friends, family, and outside interests?  

As far as Gold was concerned, in a perfect world he and Belle would never spend a second apart, and Bae and Emma would be there too with the new baby, all of them living happily together under one roof.  He was also aware that lifestyle would be stifling to those he loved best, so he’d resolved to be reasonable.

To that end, he’d done a bit of research, but what he’d learned had only depressed him.  Apparently, the average married couple only spent about seventeen minutes a day talking to each other, and that wasn’t a number that he’d ever be able to live with.

“Ideally, I’d like to spend at least four hours a day interacting with Belle— playing chess or discussing literature or just talking.  I would also like it if I could share in her outside interests.  I don’t expect her to invite me along to everything, but I would like it if she told me about what she’s doing and introduced me to the people she’s befriending.”

Gold hoped his wife wouldn’t take that the wrong way.  His interest in her activities came from him wanting to share in every part of her life, not from a need to vet her friends.  

“Additionally, I think it’s important that we spend time with Moe as a couple, perhaps another hour a day.  My work schedule is flexible enough that I can arrange to be idle at times that are convenient for Belle.  For instance, if she finds a hobby that takes up her evenings, I can work while she’s busy and we’ll have time together during the day.”  Belle had been spending several evenings a week putting her actors through their paces in preparation for the fundraiser, and he’d been considering altering his own schedule on those days in the way he described.

Next to him, Belle was looking vaguely disquieted, and his heart sank.  “Five hours a day adds up to just over twenty percent of our time, which seems a reasonable investment in our relationship.  Of course, I’m not saying those five hours need to be a single chunk of time.  I’m happy to space them out throughout the day as long as each subset of time allows for a quality interaction.”

“You’ve mentioned Belle’s father.  Are there other people you feel the need to incorporate into your vision?” Hopper asked.

“Bae and Emma, of course.”  He didn’t think Belle would begrudge sharing her life with his son and daughter-in-law.  She and Emma were already getting along swimmingly.  “In a perfect world, I would like to spend one weekend a month with them either here in Maine or in Florida.  I would want Belle to join me on those weekends.”

He cleared his throat.  “If Bae concurs.”  Asking for one weekend a month might be asking for the moon if Bae wasn’t interested in spending that much time with his papa.

“Belle?  Your thoughts on this?”  Hopper turned to Belle, who was frowning down at her hands.

“I think I did the assignment wrong.”  She looked up, her cheeks flushed a soft pink that Gold found so bewitching that it took him a moment to realize that she was embarrassed.

“That’s not possible,” Hopper assured her.  “There is no right or wrong way to complete the exercise.”

“I didn’t realize we were supposed to be _specific_.”  Belle looked up at him with rueful blue eyes.  “I mean, you practically made pie charts.  I just wrote things like ‘Family time is important.’  I’m sorry, Diarmid.  I swear that I took it seriously.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, bemused by her reaction.

“You did the exercise differently because you think differently,” Hopper explained.  “Diarmid is detail-oriented.  You see the big picture.”

Gold gave her a gentle nudge, hoping to cheer her up.  “That’s a _good_ quality.  Much more important than crunching a bunch of numbers.”

“It’s neither better nor worse,” Hopper corrected him.  “Different is just different.  Belle, why don’t you share some of your thoughts?”

Belle leaned against his shoulder as she took out her own notes.  “I pretty much agreed with everything you said; I just wasn’t specific about it.  It’s important to me that you and I spend time together, and I like the idea of spending time with Dad as a couple.  I’m still not sure he entirely grasps that we’re married.”

“As long as he isn’t furious that we’re living in sin, I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” Gold said, his voice dry.

Belle lightly kicked the side of his foot.  “It does so!  We’re married.  That’s _important_.”

She sounded so defensive of their marriage that he couldn’t bring himself to tease her.  “Yes, it is,” he agreed, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

“Are there any areas where your vision differs from Diarmid’s vision?” Hopper asked, getting them back on track.

Belle devoted her attention to her paper for a moment before brightening.  “Oh!  I wrote something that he didn’t mention.  I think we need couple friends.”

“Couple friends?” Gold repeated, not entirely sure he’d heard that right.

“You know, people we can go out to dinner with or invite over to play cards.  Things like that.  And no, your business associates do _not_ count.”  Her severe look made him smile.

“I can’t imagine a less friendly group.”  If Belle ever suggested inviting Henry and Cora over for a card game, he’d know his wife had been replaced by a pod person.

“Diarmid, how do you feel about Belle’s idea?”

“I’d be happy to socialize with your friends.”  In truth, the idea pleased him.  It was comforting to know that Belle wanted to include him in such things instead of seeing her friends as a welcome escape from his company.

Belle frowned at him.  “ _Our_ friends.  You need friends.”

If his wife expected him to make friends, she was doomed to disappointment.  “That’s not my strong suit.”

She appealed to Hopper.  “He needs friends, doesn’t he?”

Hopper leaned back in his chair.  “Everyone needs a support system— people they can rely upon to meet their emotional needs.  For some people, a single person is sufficient support.  Other people need larger groups.”

“There, you see?  You’re my support system.  And I have Bae.  That’s enough for me.”  He’d never been the kind of person who enjoyed having a crowd around him.  He would socialize with Belle’s friends and enjoy it because she did.  More than that was unnecessary.

“Don’t you get lonely?” she protested.

“You.  Bae.  Moe.  Dove.  Emma.  There’s Midas and Mrs. Potts and the new baby on the way.  When would I have time to get lonely?”  A year ago, her question would have struck home, but loneliness had ceased to be an issue for him the day he brought her and Moe home to Maine.

“There’s no magic number of relationships,” Hopper advised them.  “Diarmid, if you’re truly content with the number of personal connections you have, that’s fine.  Likewise, Belle, if you prefer a wider social circle, that’s fine too.  It only becomes an issue when those different desires cause conflict.  It wouldn’t be fair for Diarmid to insist that two of you sit home every night any more than it would be fair for Belle to demand you go out with friends each evening.”

Belle shook her head.  “I don’t think we’re _that_ far off from each other.  I’d like to socialize more than we do now, but I certainly don’t want to go out every night.” 

“And I’m sure I’ll enjoy socializing.  I think we’ll be able to reach a compromise.”  In the grand scheme of their marriage, the fact that Belle valued friendships more than he did barely rated as a problem.  

It might be a small issue, but it was one they’d successfully navigated together, and Hopper looked as pleased as punch about it.  Maybe he’d had nothing to be nervous about after all.

“Getting back to your vision statements, I asked each of you to write your definition of the perfect marriage.  I think this is a good time to share those.”

Gold glanced at Belle at the same moment she looked up at him, and for an instant, he felt like he was back in school, evading the teacher.  From the way Belle’s eyes danced with amusement, he had a feeling that she was thinking something very similar.

“Would you like me to start?” he asked, attempting to be chivalrous.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”  It was mostly true.  Over the last three months, he’d gotten used to being vulnerable with Hopper, and he trusted Belle absolutely.  The dynamic was different with all three of them together, but that didn’t mean it was uncomfortable.  To quote Hopper, sometimes different was just different.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced down at the notes he’d made.  “For me, the perfect marriage is about supporting each other.  I want Belle to feel comfortable sharing her thoughts and worries with me because she knows that I’ll listen and do everything in my power to make things better for her.  I want her to know that there is nothing she could ever do or say that would make me think less of her.  I want to be her rock, the person she knows she can rely on no matter what.”

When he stole a glance at his wife, her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.  “That’s lovely, Diarmid.”

It wasn’t actually all that far from what he’d said months ago when Belle asked him what he expected of their marriage. Of course, back then he’d mostly been thinking of ways she could support him, but the basic framework had been there from the beginning.  He’d simply learned to prioritize someone other than himself.

“How does hearing that make you feel, Belle?” Hopper asked softly.

“It makes me feel good because I think we’re already well on our way to having the marriage that he described.  Although it would be nice to occasionally hear my husband utter the word ‘love’ in conjunction with our marriage.”  The teasing look she slanted up at him made it clear that she was making a joke, but Gold mentally slapped himself for his oversight.

“I don’t say it enough, do I, sweetheart?”  He’d come a long way from the days when it found it necessary to hide his feelings for his wife, but he still wasn’t the sort of man to whom poetic declarations came easily.  

“It’s okay.  I know you love me.”  Belle put an affectionate hand on his knee.  

“But you’d like it if I said it more,” he hazarded, trying to read between the lines of what she wasn’t saying.  Just because Belle knew how he felt about her didn’t mean that she didn’t need to hear the words.  

She opened her mouth as if to protest, then smiled ruefully.  “I’d like it if you said it more.  Hearing you say it reminds me that I didn’t… you know.”

It reminded her that she was a beloved wife, not a woman who’d sold her body to ensure her father’s well-being.  Gold’s heart ached at the reminder of what Belle was struggling against.  His wife had demons of her own, and if he could do anything to help keep them at bay, he would.  “I’ll say it fifty times a day.”

She dimpled at him.  “Two or three would probably suffice.  I’ll try to say it more too.  I think maybe we just both got in the habit of _not_ saying it, and we haven’t broken out of that yet.”

“Positive reinforcement is very powerful,” Hopper agreed.  “Taking time to express your feelings to and about each other can only bring you closer.  I often recommend that couples start or end the day by paying each other a specific compliment.  Spotlighting something you like about your partner can have a major impact on their self-esteem.”

That was something that they could both probably use, Gold reflected.  He glanced at Belle.  “I’m game if you are.”

“That sounds really nice,” Belle agreed, and Gold’s mind raced as he tried to decide which of her myriad lovable traits he should spotlight first.

Hopper nodded.  “Then I’ll make that your next homework assignment.  In the meantime, I’d like to return to the exercise.  Belle, would you share your definition of a perfect marriage?”

Belle nibbled her bottom lip as she considered her notes.  “For me, the perfect marriage is like a pair of trees.  At first, they’re growing side by side, but as time passes, they lean into each other, their branches entwining.  Eventually, their trunks are so closely pressed together that you can barely tell where one begins and the other ends.  Each one is complete unto itself, but together they’re simply… more.”

Gold gazed at his wife, his throat so tight that he could barely breathe.  With a handful of sentences, Belle had painted a picture so vivid that he could almost reach out and touch it.  And that was how she saw their _marriage_ , or at least, what she believed it could be.

“Diarmid?  How does that make you feel?”

He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out as a croak.  “Awestruck.”

Belle blushed, and he could only image how he was looking at her.  To hell with Isaac Heller.  Belle should be the leading light of Storybrooke’s literary world if she could write things like that.

“And how closely do you feel your marriage currently matches that ideal picture?” Hopper asked Belle.

“Oh…”  She leaned back against the couch, her eyes going unfocused.  “Oh, that’s a hard question.  I think we’re still in the branches entwining stage.”

Gold exhaled an involuntary breath of relief, realizing that he’d been half-expecting her to announce that their trees were leaning away from each other.  

“What about you, Diarmid?  How close do you think your marriage comes to your definition of perfection?”

“On a scale of one to ten… Six?  That’s probably optimistic.  Perhaps a five.”  After a moment’s thought, he nodded, satisfied with his rating.  “Yes, it’s definitely a five.”

“A _five_?”  Belle looked outraged.

Gold blinked at her.  He’d thought his number was appropriate.  He was comfortable being completely vulnerable with Belle and relied upon her support, but he’d destroyed her trust that night at the beach, and he hadn’t yet earned it back.  Therefore, they were halfway there.  “Well, yes.  What would you rate it?”

“I’d give it a hell of a lot more than a _five_.”  She bit the number out like it was an obscenity.  

Hopper’s gentle cough broke the building tension.  “Diarmid, would you mind explaining why you chose the number you did?”

“I feel completely supported by Belle, and I trust her with my innermost thoughts, but I know that my actions destroyed her trust in me.  Until I’ve proven myself to her, we only have half of a perfect marriage.  Ergo, I gave it a five.”  As he spoke, he was aware that Belle’s posture was becoming less rigid.

“Is that what you think?” she asked quietly.  “Do you really think I don’t trust you?”

“You did once and I destroyed that trust.”  The night at the beach was a subject Hopper hadn’t even touched on yet, but it colored everything about their relationship.

“Yes, you did, but we’ve come a long way from that night.  Both of us have—together and separately.  In a lot of ways, I think I trust you more _now_ than I did before because I know you so much better now.”  Belle laced her fingers through his and squeezed.  “I _do_ trust you, Diarmid.”

When he thought back over the past few months, the truth of her words became self-evident.  Belle had trusted him enough to not only confess her worries about the fundraiser but to give voice to the deep-rooted insecurity that was holding her back from being intimate with him.  She’d trusted him enough to hear him out when he made a hash out of things with Heller and to share her worries that she might be abusive.

For months, Belle had been showing him that she trusted him, and he’d been so blinded by his own self-loathing that he hadn’t even noticed.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.  I was so lost in my own head that I didn’t see what was happening right in front of me.”

She tapped his wedding ring with her thumb.  “In that case, would you like to amend your rating?”

Gold considered the matter.  Things weren’t perfect between them, as the most recent misunderstanding proved, but if they trusted each other, they were a lot closer to perfect than he’d realized.  “Seven?”

“I will accept a seven.”  Belle grinned up at him.  “We’re getting there.  We just need to work on—“

“Communication,” they said in unison, and Gold chuckled as she giggled.  

“I feel like we’re on the same page of the same book, but each of us has one that’s written in a different language.”  As similes went, his left something to be desired, but his chest swelled with pride at Belle’s look of approval.

“In the long run, that might be a good thing.  If I see the big picture and you’re detail-oriented, we complement each other.  We just need to get to the point where we understand each other ninety-four percent of the time,” she suggested.

“Only ninety-four?”

Belle’s eyes sparkled.  “It won’t be any fun if we _always_ know what the other is thinking.  A marriage needs a little mystery.  Keeps things interesting.”

Gold lifted her hand to his mouth to brush a kiss against her knuckles.  “Ninety-four percent sounds like a worthy goal to me.”

When he finally managed to tear his attention away from his wife, he glanced at Hopper, the therapist looking insufferably pleased.  “What?”

“I was just thinking that it’s entirely possible that you don’t need my services at all.”  Hopper’s wry smile indicated that he wasn’t entirely serious.  “These sessions are going to be exceptionally boring for me if all I do is sit here and watch the two of you work through your issues on your own.”

“I always was an overachiever,” Belle informed him.

“If that’s the case, I suppose there’s no point in continuing to pay your exorbitant fee.”  Gold hid a smile as he called Hopper’s bluff.

The therapist chuckled.  “Oh, I think I might have one or two communication strategies that the two of you would find useful.”

Gold and Belle exchanged a meaningful glance before she spoke.  “We’re in.  When it comes to communication, we can use all the help we can get.”

“Actually, I think you’re doing very well.  Obviously, there’s room for improvement, but I think you have a solid foundation on which to build.”

Hopper’s words took him aback.  For months, Gold had been picturing their marriage as a broken thing, the secure foundation obliterated by his actions at the beach.  Now, he was forced to look at it through Hopper’s eyes, and he could scarcely believe what he’d been missing: he’d regained Belle’s trust and the two of them had forged a bond that in many ways was stronger than the one they’d had before.  They’d laid themselves bare emotionally and understood each other on a level deeper than the affectionate friendship they’d had before everything went to hell.

Gold wrapped his arm around Belle, the rush of euphoria at his realization leaving him feeling a little dizzy.  Before the night at the beach, they’d been lovers, but now they were _partners_.  If they sometimes spoke at cross-purposes, well, so what?  Hopper could teach them how to avoid that, and if they occasionally got it wrong, it wouldn’t matter because they were a team and they’d work it out.  Together.

They’d fixed the cup, and he’d never even realized it was happening.

They were going to be okay.


	43. Chapter 43

As Gold neared the pink house’s driveway, he felt as though he was approaching the finish line of a marathon.  It wasn’t until he and Belle made it through their first marriage counseling session with flying colors that he realized just how afraid he had been that Hopper would announce that they were hopelessly incompatible and should plan to divorce as quickly as possible.

Next to him, Belle sighed noisily.  “I feel like I just passed all my finals.”

It was heartening to hear that their thoughts were tending along the same lines.  “I was thinking much the same thing.”

“I think we did well though,” she decided, and the smile she sent his way warmed his soul.

“I think we got straight As.”  Continuing her metaphor made him feel like they’d already conquered their communication issues.

However, that was only a daydream, as became clear once they were safely ensconced inside the house.  The two of them stood facing each other in the foyer, and he realized that he didn’t have the slightest idea what his wife was thinking.  This was uncharted territory for them.  While they were used to caring for each other in the aftermath of a therapy session, it had always been up to the person left at home to tend to the other’s needs.  This time, their roles were blurry.

“I don’t want to do this,” Belle announced, compounding the problem.

Gold’s mind raced as he tried to figure out what Belle didn’t want to do.  Stand here and stare at him?  Continue going to therapy?  Stay in this house another minute?  

He took a deep breath and forced himself to put one of Hopper’s suggestions to use.  When the therapist gave them the instruction, it had seemed obvious enough to be laughable, but in the moment, Gold realized just how hard it really was to implement.   _If you don’t understand what your partner is saying, ask for clarification._

“What don’t you want to do?”

After the success of their therapy session, it hurt to admit just how lost he was, but Belle’s face immediately softened.  “Sorry, that was vague as hell, wasn’t it?”

Her laugh was nervous, and for some reason, that made him feel a little better.  She was having trouble communicating too.  It wasn’t just him.

She waved her hands like she was trying to physically shape the words.  “I don’t want to do _this_ … hang out with you for a while and talk about the session then go upstairs to bed.”

Gold tried not to flinch.  He’d thought they were getting along well, but apparently Belle had had enough of his company for one day.

“I’m sick of feeling so close to you and then sleeping alone just because I… Will you come back to the bedroom, Diarmid?  I’m not ready to do anything yet, and I’m sorry, but I miss sleeping next to you.  Maybe that’s selfish.”  Her eyes were huge and pleading.

It was all Gold could do to keep his knees from buckling, sending him crashing to the floor in abject relief.  Belle wasn’t tired of him.  She was tired of sleeping separately, but she was afraid he’d be offended to be invited back to the bed when she wasn’t yet ready to be intimate with him.

On that score, he could reassure her.  “That’s not selfish at all.  Sweetheart, I would like nothing better than to come back to the bedroom.  You could stretch a piece of barbed wire down the center of the mattress, and I would be overjoyed just to sleep beside you.”

The smile she gave him was luminous.  “I don’t think barbed wire will be necessary.  I was hoping for at least a little cuddling.”

Tonight the blanket and pillow he stored in his office closet would go unused, and as he climbed the stairs at Belle’s side, Gold allowed himself to hope that they would continue to gather dust.  If he had his way, he would never spend another night without Belle in his arms.

Unfortunately, his euphoria at being invited back into the bedroom didn’t make the actual situation any less awkward.  Once, he and Belle had had a comfortable nighttime routine, but now it felt like they were starting from scratch.  Which of them should claim the bathroom first?  Was it appropriate to disrobe in front of her, even partially?  It was nothing she hadn’t seen before, but he didn’t want her to think he was disregarding what she’d said about not being ready for sex.

“I’m going to go check in on Dad.”  Belle didn’t quite meet his eyes as she said the words, and that told him that she felt as awkward as he did.

“In that case, I’ll get myself ready for bed.  After that… perhaps I’ll fix us a snack?”  A trip to the kitchen would get him out of the room and give her the privacy for her own nighttime ritual.

“That’s a _really_ good idea.”  Belle took a half-step closer, and Gold held his breath as she leaned up to kiss his cheek.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”  His throat was so tight that the words were barely audible, but Belle beamed at the sentiment before leaving the room to go visit Moe.

Feeling like he was walking on air, Gold readied himself for bed.  This room had been his for twenty-five years, but after three months of exile, he found himself looking at it with new eyes.  Since their marriage, Belle had moved things around, her own belongings making a home for themselves alongside his own, and the sight brought tears to his eyes.  How had he not realized how lonely and empty the space had been without Belle to complete it?  It seemed impossible that he’d survived decades without her.

He took care with his evening preparations, hoping to please her.  Sex might be out of the question, but Belle had said something about cuddling, and for that, he needed to look and smell his best.

Finally satisfied, he braced his hands on the vanity and gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror.  “I am worthy of love.  I am enough just as I am.  I am flexible and open to change.”

It was easier to say the affirmations tonight than it had ever been before.  “I deserve to be happy,” he concluded, holding his own gaze for a final moment.  It had been a long time coming, but true happiness was finally within his grasp. 

He passed the source of most of that happiness on his way to the kitchen.  “Anything in particular you’re hungry for?”

It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d requested pickled beets or chicken nuggets, but Belle’s tastes seemed to be running along more respectable lines tonight.  “Just bread and cheese works for me.  And I could be persuaded to drink a beer if you bring me one.”

“Bread, cheese, beer,” he repeated, not realizing until he was halfway down the stairs just why the menu seemed familiar—it was the same thing they’d eaten on their wedding night.

It was probably a coincidence, Gold told himself as he put together a tray for them to share.  Even so, he couldn’t help but think it was a good sign.  Tonight was a starting point, just like their wedding night had been.  

His heart was light as he returned to the bedroom, tray in hand.  Belle was still in the bathroom, the door ajar, and Gold had just started to busy himself turning down the bed and arranging their snack when he heard her voice.  

“I believe in myself.  I am content to live in the present moment.  I love and approve of myself.  I am successful in everything I do.  I am doing my best and learning to do better every day.”

He shouldn’t be eavesdropping.  If Belle wanted to share her affirmations with him, she would.  It wasn’t right for him to listen in on her in a private moment.

Before he could decide whether he should announce his presence or just leave the bedroom to give her privacy, Belle emerged from the bathroom, clad in dinosaur pajamas.  “Oh!  I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he defended.

“Hm?  No, that’s fine.  I don’t mind.  It’s not like you don’t do them too.  I’m surprised that Archie didn’t give us any couple affirmations to do.”  She sounded so relaxed about it that Gold felt his own tension slipping away.  There was no need to walk on eggshells with Belle.  They were past that point.

“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time,” he predicted as he claimed his usual side of the bed.  It wasn’t until he was comfortably leaning against the headboard that he realized how natural it had felt to do so.

Belle took the spot next to him, smiling in approval at the sight of their snack.  “You’re probably right.”

Gold tore off a piece of bread and added a slice of cheese to it before offering it to her and taking one for himself.  “Perhaps he didn’t want to overwhelm us with homework.”

“If he gives us too many more affirmations, we’re not going to have time to talk about anything else.”

“In that case, we should grab the opportunity to speak at leisure while we can.  What should we talk about?”  A topic presented itself immediately to him.  “How are your rehearsals going?”

Belle’s eyes sparkled.  “I’m having so much fun that I almost don’t care if the fundraiser is a disaster.”

He definitely needed to buy her a theater, and Gold quickly went through the list of vacant buildings in town as he tried to decide which one could be best converted for the purpose.  The old library perhaps.  It had striking architecture, and Belle would appreciate its history.

“Will and Ana have broken up and gotten back together at least twice since we started.  You’ll like Ana.  She has a Machiavellian streak, just like you do.”

Her assessment of his personality made him chuckle.  “I think we’ll have a great deal in common.”

“I think I’m going to suggest that we all go out after rehearsal on Thursday.  Go to the diner or maybe the Rabbit Hole.  Do you want to meet up with us?”

Once, Gold would have assumed that the invitation was perfunctory, but after their discussion with Hopper tonight, he knew better.  Belle enjoyed socializing with the actors, and she wanted him to join them not because it was her duty as his wife to include him but because she wanted him to share the things she enjoyed with her.

“I would like that very much, sweetheart.”  On the surface, spending the night at a bar with a bunch of twenty-somethings was not his idea of a fun evening, but if Belle thought he would like her friends, he would trust her judgement.  Anything they did together would only further solidify their bond, and if Belle liked these people, he wanted to know them better.  By getting to know them, he would learn more about her.

“Good.”  She clinked her beer bottle against his.  “It’s a date.”

“I guarantee that your business associates are more pleasurable company than mine are,” he observed in a dry tone.

Belle snickered.  “That’s one of the things I like about you.”

“That I’m less unpleasant than the rest of my social circle?”

Belle elbowed him gently.  “Knock it off.  I’m trying to pay you a compliment.  I like your sense of humor.  I like how dry and witty you are, the way you just slip a joke into the middle of something and it takes me a second to catch it.  No one has ever made me laugh like you do.  It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

His immediate impulse was to deflect her sweet words with a smart remark, but Gold bit back the instinct with effort, sensing that Hopper would not approve.  Instead, he took a breath and gave himself the space to just appreciate the lovely thing his wife had said about him.  Belle was the first person—other than Bae who’d been raised on it—to appreciate his sense of humor.  Most of the people he knew weren’t even aware that he _had_ one, interpreting his dry sarcasm as rudeness if they registered it at all.

“Thank you, sweetheart.  I enjoy making you laugh.”  In hindsight, he wondered if he’d fallen in love with Belle that very first day when she laughed at the jibe he’d made about her book instead of being offended by it.

As per the dictates of their homework assignment, it was his turn to say something nice about her, and Gold considered the matter carefully.  After a few moments of thought, he realized his hesitation probably didn’t look good.  “I”m not having trouble thinking of something.  I’m just trying to decide which of your many positive qualities I should mention first.”

Belle snickered.  “You should write all of them down and drop them in a hat.  Then you can just pick one at random every night and talk about that.”

“I’m not sure I have a hat big enough to hold them all.”  In truth, he wasn’t sure he owned a hat at all.

Belle tilted her head to give him a considering look.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a hat.”

“Nor will you.  They don’t flatter me.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I think you might look handsome in a top hat.  Elegant and distinguished, like Mr. Darcy.”

“I’d probably look more like a circus ringmaster,” he groused, secretly flattered by her comparison.

Belle’s secretive smile told him wordlessly that his wife was plotting something, but she said nothing more, giving him no clue as to what was awaiting him.  With effort, Gold directed his mind away from trying to figure out what she was planning to do.  Belle would never deliberately make him uncomfortable, so whatever she was up to couldn’t be too bad.

“I enjoy your optimism,” he told her, bringing them back to the matter at hand.  “I know that I tease you about it, but I genuinely appreciate your ability to look on the bright side.  When seen through your eyes, the world is a far more welcoming place.”

Belle’s eyes shimmered.  “Thank you, Diarmid.”

He was supposed to be saying something else too, and it took him half a second to remember what it was.  “Oh!  And I love you.”

Laughter wasn’t the response he’d been expecting, but it was the one he got.  As Belle laughed, Gold mentally replayed his declaration, realizing how stilted the words had been.  

There was no mockery in Belle’s laughter, just honest amusement, and that allowed Gold to laugh at himself.  When he’d been trying to convince Belle to remain his wife, the words had come naturally to his tongue.  Somehow, saying them when the fate of their relationship wasn’t at stake was harder.  “I suppose I need more practice.”

“We both do.”  Belle sighed.  “I spent so long reminding myself _not_ to say it that I haven’t quite gotten used to the idea that now I can.”

“That’s my fault—“ he began.

“It’s both of our faults.  Your proposal wasn’t exactly romantic, but it’s not like you made me swear never to develop feelings for you.  I could have told you, but I chose not to.  I wish I had.”  She leaned against him, making an irritated noise when the tray got in her way.

Quickly, Gold put it aside, his breath catching as he imagined what life could have been like if he and Belle had realized they were in love right from the start.

“So do I.”  How many of their difficulties could have been avoided if he’d just confessed his feelings for Belle once he realized he had them?  If he’d simply blurted out his love for her one day, Belle might even have believed he meant the words instead of thinking he was saying them to manipulate her.

“What would you have done if I told you I loved you when you proposed?” she asked, her mind clearly following the same track that his was.

Much as he would have liked to spin a romantic fantasy where her declaration of love instantly cured his cynicism and magically transformed him into the prince she deserved instead of the beast she’d married, Gold had to be honest.  “I probably wouldn’t have believed you.”

Belle snickered.  “Why am I not surprised?”

The best case scenario was that he would have assumed she was trying to made the best of a less-than-ideal situation.  On the other side of that coin, his suspicious nature might have led him to believe that she was trying to manipulate him, so it was probably for the best Belle had decided to keep her feelings to herself.

Then again, if Belle had declared her love for him that night, he might have caught on to the identity of the boy from Maine far earlier in their relationship.  If Moe had substantiated Belle’s claim to love him, he would have had a much harder time disbelieving her.  What would it have been like to knowingly marry a woman who loved him?

“It’s better that I didn’t know.  I wish I could tell you that I would have been gentle and careful with your feelings, but that’s not who I was back then.  If I’d known you loved me, I would have seen it as a weakness to exploit.”  That was the model he’d had for marriage, and it was all too easy to imagine himself taking a page or two from Milah’s playbook.  He would have used Belle’s feelings for him to twist her around his little finger, and the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Instead of flinching away from him, Belle snorted as she knocked her shoulder into his.  “Oh please.  You would have done no such thing.”

Her reaction caught him off guard.  “What do you mean?”

“You had me over a barrel those first few months.  I was totally dependent on you, and until the night at the beach, you never once took advantage of that.  You had no need to ‘exploit my weakness’ because you had all the power anyway.  And you didn’t use it.  Try again.  What would have happened if you knew I loved you?”  Expectant blue eyes awaited his response.

Try as he might, Gold couldn’t argue with her logic.  More than once, he’d considered manipulating Belle to get his way, but he deliberately chose not to do so because that wasn’t the sort of relationship he wanted to have with his wife.  She was right.  He hadn’t needed any additional leverage over her.  Back then, he’d held all of the cards.

He was a better person than he thought he was, and the realization took a weight off of his soul.  He wasn’t Milah, and there was no set of circumstances that could lead him into becoming her.  For all his flaws, he didn’t have that in him.

So, what _would_ he have done if he knew Belle loved him?

“I would have run from you,” he realized.  “The thought that you loved me would have terrified me because if you loved me, there was a chance that I could love you.  And that was the last thing in the world I wanted.”

Before Belle, love had led to nothing but heartache and misery.  Gold had planned to live out the rest of his life without ever succumbing again, but he’d underestimated Belle.  She’d wormed her way into his heart past defenses that he thought were too well fortified ever to be breeched.  If he’d seen her coming, he would have tripled his efforts to keep her out, and resisting her would have led to far more misery than loving her ever could.

Belle hummed softly.  “It’s a good thing I didn’t tell you then.  I would have hated to sleep alone on my wedding night.  Having to chase my new husband all around the house would have been terrible for my self-esteem.”

In spite of himself, Gold chuckled at the mental image of Belle pursuing him from room to room like a hungry wolf stalking her prey.  “Quite a role reversal— the innocent young maiden trying to lure the terrifying beast to his doom.”

“Hardly a maiden,” Belle reminded him, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I notice you don’t try to deny that I was a terrifying beast.”

“Oh, shut up.”  

When Belle caught hold of a handful of his hair and yanked him down to meet her lips, Gold nearly swallowed his tongue.  A heartbeat later, he found a better use for it when Belle parted her lips for him with an eager noise.  He’d _missed_ this—missed the taste of her and the tiny, soul-destroying noises she made in the back of her throat.  

Helplessly, he tangled his hands in her hair, her curls wrapping themselves around his fingers as if they were loath to let him go.  Her mouth was pliant beneath his, and it was all he could do not to simply lose himself in her.  That was a step Belle wasn’t ready to take, so he clung to his control with his fingernails, restraining himself to simply running his tongue over the inside of her bottom lip, and the sting of pain when she pulled his hair only heightened the pleasure.  When Belle pressed herself against him in a wordless plea for more, Gold risked delving deeper, seeking out every place in her mouth that had ever made her shiver and sigh with delight.

Her lips were soft, so very soft, and she was wearing the dinosaur pajamas she’d worn on their wedding night, and he was far too close to forgetting that they needed to go slow.

With effort, Gold eased back from the kiss, unable to relinquish his grip on her hair.  “Was that… okay?”  It wouldn’t do to make Belle feel pressured.  

She blinked open dazed eyes.  “That was _amazing_.”

“I’ve missed kissing you,” he confessed.  He’d missed a great many things, but kissing Belle was definitely at the top of the list.

“I’ve missed being kissed.”  When she smiled crookedly at him, he had to kiss her again.  It was impossible to resist.

This time Belle took the lead, and Gold yielded to her at once, allowing her to press him back against the headboard as she plundered him, her clever tongue caressing the roof of his mouth in a way that made his toes curl.  Her nails scraped against his sides through his pajama top, and it was all he could do not to tear at the fabric, hating everything that kept him from feeling her hands on his bare skin.

Too soon, Belle pulled away, and he took a ragged breath, trying to calm his racing heart.  She wasn’t ready for this, and it would be boorish to press for more than she wanted to give him.

“I’m _so_ glad you’re here,” Belle murmured.

With those words, any lingering frustration vanished.  Belle had welcomed him back into their bed, and that was something he’d feared would never happen.  “Not as glad as I am.”

She snuggled into him and leaned her head against his shoulder.  “We’ll agree to disagree.  And tomorrow, I’m going to pick out your tie.”

Gold beamed senselessly at the far wall.  If Belle wanted to resume the little ‘wifely duties’ that had initially bonded them together as a couple, that was a step far more significant than mere sex ever could be.  “I’m looking forward to it.”


	44. Chapter 44

“I’m catching a flight back to Australia tonight.  Take care of Dad for me.  I’ll never forget you.”

Once, Belle’s dramatic pronouncement would have sent Gold into a panic, but now he understood his wife well enough to take the joke for what it was.  The fundraiser was less than a week away, and Belle had been getting more frazzled by the day despite his best efforts to reassure her.  Now, apparently, she’d reached the end of her tether.  “Are your actors misbehaving?”

“They’re fine, but this is going to be a disaster!  Everyone is going to think the whole mystery thing is stupid and childish and no one is going to play along, and Cora is going to laugh and laugh, and I’m never going to be able to leave the house again!”

It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned her concept, and Gold deliberately took a slow, audible breath, encouraging her to do the same thing.  “Everyone is going to love it.  I know these people better than you do.  They’re going to be falling all over each other trying to be the first one to solve the mystery and win that sculpture.”

It was more likely that they’d be stabbing each other in the back than tripping over each other, and the sculpture was a mere afterthought in comparison to the satisfaction of outdoing the others, but Gold wasn’t sure if it was prudent to mention that to Belle.  Let her think the best of the people who were paying the exorbitant fee to attend her event, the proceeds going to a charity hand-picked by Belle to help people who’d suffered strokes.

“Do you really think so?”  Her voice quavered.

“I know so.  If I didn’t think this was a good idea, I would have mentioned it months ago.  I’m not going to let my wife make a fool out of herself.”

On the surface, it was an egotistical statement, but Belle’s sigh of relief told him that she’d taken it in the spirit he intended.  “Do you want me to come down there and provide some moral support?”

When she spoke again, Belle sounded considerably calmer.  “No, that’s okay.  I think I’m going to wrap things up before too much longer and come home.  If you happened to have some wine waiting for me, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I believe I can manage that.”  Gold ran a finger over the back of his phone, wishing he could caress Belle’s face in the same way.  “Tell your actors that if they don’t do a good job for you, I will personally come down there and break all of their legs.”

As he’d hoped, the threat made her giggle, and he smiled into the empty living room at the musical sound, feeling as close to her as if they were actually in the same room.

On the other end of the line, he heard a rush of air as if Belle was holding the phone away from her face, then she shouted at her actors.  “Diarmid says break a leg!”

A ragged chorus of thanks and cheers greeted her words, and Gold couldn’t help being warmed by them.  Belle’s friends weren’t people he ever would have chosen to spend his time with, but he had to admit that he liked the odd little group.  Much to his surprise, it seemed that they liked him too, and he’d started to look forward to their weekly get togethers at the Rabbit Hole.  

Belle had been right when she said they needed couple friends, but even so, he couldn’t allow her lie to go unchallenged.  “That is _not_ what I said.”

“I translated,” she informed him, her voice unrepentant, and Gold could practically hear her smile.  She was in a far better state of mind than she’d been when this conversation started, and pride suffused him.  He’d done that.  He’d made her feel better.

“I’ll allow it this time, but don’t make a habit of it,” he mock-scolded her.  “I’ll have the wine waiting for you when you get home.”

“Thanks, Diarmid.  Love you.”

The simple sincerity in her voice made him lean into the phone, instinctively striving to get closer to her.  “I love you too.”

The words might never come naturally to his tongue, but after a few weeks of saying them without tragedy immediately striking, they were getting easier to say.  Reluctantly, Gold ended the call and stashed his phone back in his pocket as he headed for the kitchen, mentally ransacking his wine collection as he tried to decide what Belle would want to drink tonight.

The sound of the doorbell brought him up short.  Although his social circle had widened since his marriage, this still wasn’t the kind of house that welcomed surprise guests.  It was possible someone might drop by to see Belle, but it was already after nine, which seemed late to him for a social call.  There was a slim chance that Bae was standing on the front porch, but Gold couldn’t imagine his son coming all the way from Tallahassee without calling first.  

“I’m coming,” he grumbled when the doorbell rang again, casting a wary glance at the second floor as he made his way to the front door.  It was a full moon tonight, and although Gold had always dismissed the idea that moon phases affected people’s behavior, Moe was always more restless on full moon nights.  Incessant doorbell ringing might well agitate him.

Fortunately, all remained quiet, and Gold carefully schooled his face into what he hoped was a welcoming expression.  If the visitor was indeed one of Belle’s friends, it wouldn’t do to scare them off.

His look of welcome froze on his face when he saw who was waiting for him on the other side of the door.  

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Milah asked, her eyebrows arching in expectation.  Without giving him a chance to respond—or to slam the door in her face—she brushed past him, looking around the foyer with avid interest.  

“Not bad.  A bit dark and heavy, and it could use a woman’s touch, but not bad.”  She trailed her fingers over the Madden sculpture that Belle had decided to give pride of place where every guest would see it, and a low growl escaped Gold’s throat at the sight.  Mutant mushroom or not, that sculpture belonged to _Belle_.  Milah had no right to lay a hand on it.

“What are you doing here?”

Ignoring the question, Milah kept moving deeper into the house like she owned it, forcing him to shut the door and follow her.  He’d had a nightmare like this once about his former wife invading the home he shared with Belle, and Gold bit the inside of his cheek, the flash of pain assuring him that he was awake.  That was unfortunate.

Inside the living room, Milah turned slowly, taking in the extensive collection of art and antiques before she faced him, a winsome smile on her lips.  “You look good, Diarmid.”

At first glance, the years had been kind to Milah.  Her hair was still a rich shade of mahogany, her skin smooth and clear and her eyes bright.  Upon closer inspection, the illusion didn’t quite hold together.  Her hair was slightly darker than it had been when she was twenty, betraying the fact that the color now came from a bottle.  Her skin was the tiniest bit too tight, her face curiously unmoving.  Clearly, Milah had gotten some help in denying the aging process.

“Why are you here?” he repeated, although the way she was looking at the house provided a rather large clue.  He could practically see the dollar signs flashing behind her eyes.  Killian, apparently, had made good on his threat to divorce her, and Milah was on the hunt for a new meal ticket.

Milah licked her lips and parted them slightly, doing her best to call his attention to her pout.  “Does a wife need an excuse to visit her husband?”

“We’re divorced,” he reminded her, his voice hard.

“Don’t be like that,” she scolded with a flutter of her eyelashes.  “I know you’ve missed me every bit as much as I’ve missed you.  You’re still wearing your wedding ring.  It’s all right, Diari.  I’m back now.”

He’d all but forgotten about the ridiculous nickname she used to call him, and for a moment he was so distracted by the rush of irritation he felt at the sound of it that he almost missed her comment about his ring.  It seemed that Bae hadn’t told Milah about Belle, and her hubris was so great that when she saw a wedding ring on his finger, she assumed it was proof that he was still hopelessly besotted with her.  The thought that he might have moved on never even crossed her mind.

It was like looking at an alien species, and Gold was almost as fascinated as he was repulsed.  What was it like to be Milah?  To be so utterly convinced of her own irresistibility that she thought she could waltz back into her ex-husband’s life after two and a half decades and just pick up where they left off?  He wasn’t sure if it was brazen confidence or a very specific type of insanity.

“And you can leave again.”  He jabbed the handle of his cane in the direction of the front door, reminding her where it was.  Belle would be home soon, tired and stressed from preparing for the fundraiser, and if she walked into the house to find Milah here, Gold couldn’t imagine her reaction.

“I know you don’t mean that.”  Milah shook her head, looking at him with the indulgent patience people used with fractious children.  In two steps, she was in front of him, reaching out to wind his tie—the tie that Belle had selected for him that morning—through her fingers.

“Aren’t you tired of being lonely?  Wouldn’t it feel good to have someone to love again?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.  

The distance provided by time and an excellent therapist allowed Gold to notice things that would have eluded him twenty-five years ago.  Even now, Milah didn’t even bother to pretend that she loved him.  He wondered if that had always been so painfully obvious.  

For a moment, he was tempted to throw Belle in her face.  Since Bae hadn’t mentioned his second wife’s existence to his first, he could have the pleasure of breaking the news of his remarriage.  It would be a beautiful thing to watch Milah’s face collapse into rage and confusion when confronted with the truth that he _had_ someone to love: a brilliant and beautiful woman half his age who adored him in return.

An instant later, he dismissed the notion.  Belle was more than a weapon to be used against his ex-wife.  Milah didn’t deserve to even hear her name.  “I would rather spend the rest of my life in solitary confinement than spend another minute with you.”

For just an instant, he could see white-hot rage flash in Milah’s eyes, her mask slipping.  Then tears replaced the rage, pooling in her eyes as she clutched at his tie, her lips trembling.  “That’s a horrible thing for you to say to me.  How can you be so cruel, Diari?”

Grinding his teeth, Gold took hold of her wrists and removed her hands from his tie before releasing her.  Even that brief contact with her skin was enough to make him feel like he needed a decontamination shower.  This was the woman he’d spent years making a fool of himself over?  He couldn’t imagine, much less remember, what he’d seen in her.

“Spare me the crocodile tears.  You know exactly what you’ve done.”  Had she only ruined his life, he might have forgiven her, but he would never be able to forgive what she’d done to Bae.

“Are you still obsessing about that?”  Milah shook her head in disbelief.  “That’s all in the past.  It’s been _decades_.  It’s not healthy to hold on to this kind of anger.  It’s no wonder you’re miserable if you’ve been nursing a grudge for this long.”

Her sanctimonious little lecture set his teeth on edge.  “Get out.”

Instead of obeying, Milah deposited herself on the sofa, tugging up her skirt to give him a better look at her legs as she slowly crossed them.  “Now, Diari.  If you don’t start being nicer to me, I’m going to start reconsidering my decision to give you a second chance.”

“A second chance?” he parroted, torn between laughing at her presumption and beating his head against the wall in frustration.

A regal nod answered him.  “I forgive you.  I’m willing to give you the chance to win me back.”

“How gracious.”

Milah smiled up at him as she patted the sofa cushion beside her, his sarcasm clearly flying over her head.  “I could never stay mad at you forever.”

If he was wise, he’d call for Dove or possibly the sheriff to remove Milah, but Gold couldn’t help but indulge his curiosity.  “What, exactly, have you forgiven me for?”

“You treated me terribly,” she informed him with a coquettish look.  “But I forgive you.”

“You used me to get out of Scotland, cheated on me for years, and stole my son from me,” he reminded her, his tone blunt.  

Milah leapt to her feet.  “And whose fault was that?  You turned Baden against me!  I’m his mother.  He should have been thrilled to come live with me, but you filled his head with nonsense.”

She couldn’t possibly believe what she was saying.  “If anyone turned Bae against you, it was _you_.  Did you think he didn’t notice you never had any use for him?”  

“Children should love their mothers.  He should have been grateful that I wanted him with me.”  A petulant frown punctuated her words.

“Aye, that’s the real problem, isn’t it?  He didn’t dance to your tune.”  Milah had no more love for Bae than she had for him, but it would bother her to no end that she couldn’t control him.  Maybe her reason for having Bae join her in California was as simple and petty as a child refusing to let anyone else play with an unloved toy.  She didn’t want Bae, but she’d be damned if anyone else was allowed to have him either.

“He should have been grateful!  Children should respect their parents!  If you’d done a better job raising him, he would know how to behave.  You have no idea how much he made me suffer!”  

Gold winced as Milah’s voice rose dramatically.  The last thing he needed was for her to bring Moe blundering into this.  Taking a deep breath, he tried to modulate the tone of the conversation.  “Bae is a _person_ , not an object to possess.  As am I.  When you treat people poorly, they don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

He could almost see his words crashing into whatever mental forcefield Milah had in place, preventing anything he said from actually reaching her ears.  He could explain the meaning of life to her in words of one syllable, and she wouldn’t hear any of it because she wasn’t listening to him, just waiting for him to stop talking so she could start again.  He was quite literally wasting his breath.

“Well, I’m _sorry_ I wasn’t a perfect mother.  I’ve forgiven myself for that, and it’s high time you stopped throwing the past in my face.  You don’t see me dredging up everything you did to me.  You dragged me out of Scotland.  You forced me to have a baby when I didn’t want to.  You refused to let me have any fun.  You never paid any attention to me!”

It was like getting a glimpse into an alternate universe.  Milah’s voice rang with conviction, making him wonder if she actually believed her rewritten version of history.  They’d left Scotland at her insistence, and Gold had spent years turning himself inside out in a futile effort to please her.  Although she hadn’t welcomed her pregnancy, the decision to continue it had been reached mutually.  He’d never once pressured her.

Undoubtedly, reminding her of any of those facts would be useless.  “If I was such a dreadful husband, you’re well rid of me.  Go home and tell yourself that you had a lucky escape.”

“You _owe_ me,” she growled, letting all pretense drop.  “You and your ungrateful little shit of a son cost me Killian.  That nasty stunt of Baden’s has your fingerprints all over it, and you’re going to start making it up to me right now.”

Her sheer audacity took his breath away, and before Gold could compose a coherent reply, the front door creaked open.  “Diarmid?  I’m back.  Where’s the wine?”

Milah whirled on her heel as Belle came around the corner into the living room, her eyes widening at the sight of the other woman in her home.  “Oh sorry!  I didn’t realize you had a guest.  I swear I’m not a lush.”

Belle took a step toward Milah, her hand outstretched, and Gold found his voice.  “You’ve heard me mention my first wife.”

Instantly, Belle’s hand dropped, her face hardening.  “Indeed.”

With deliberate movements, she stepped around Milah to come to his side, and Gold nearly swallowed his tongue when she grabbed hold of his tie, using it like a leash to drag him down for a very long kiss.  

“Miss me, darling?” she asked in a playful voice as she released him, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.  Content that she’d made her point, Belle turned to face Milah.  “I don’t think we’ve met.  I’m Belle Gold.”

Milah’s eyes were threatening to bug out of her head.  “No.  There’s no way.”

Gold held his breath as Belle looped her arm through his, leaning into him just enough to offer wordless support, and that allowed him to join the conversation.  “Excuse me?”

“You and _her_?  This is a joke, right?  What is she?  Some cheap little friend of Baden’s?  Or are you paying her?”  Milah’s eyes narrowed as she looked Belle up and down.

Until now, Gold had felt little more than bemused frustration at Milah’s antics, so he was unprepared for the blinding rage that swept over him at her snide assessment of Belle.  “Don’t _ever_ speak of my wife in such a way again.”

“You actually love her,” Milah muttered, sounding wondering.

An instant later, she burst into raucous laughter that threatened to rouse the entire neighborhood.  “Oh, this is too good!  Give it a year, two at the most, and your slutty little midlife crisis is going to leave you high and dry, and I am going to laugh my _ass_ off!  God, I’m going to have to move to Maine just to watch this shit show.  It’s going to be _glorious_.”

A sharp crack broke through Milah’s laughter, and Gold’s jaw dropped as Belle’s hand connected with his ex-wife’s face in a brisk slap.  “Get out of my house.”

Milah raised a hand to the side of her face, looking at Belle as though she was seeing her for the first time.  “How dare you?”

“ _No one_ talks to my husband like that,” Belle snarled, her voice deadly.  “Get out of our house.”

“You little _bitch_!”

When Milah took a step forward, Gold instinctively shoved Belle behind him.  His wife had proven that she didn’t need his protection, but if Milah was going to attempt to claw anyone’s eyes out, he would prefer it if she clawed him.  At the very least, it was the chivalrous thing to do.

Before any clawing could occur, a querulous voice came from the direction of the stairs.  “What’s going on?”

“Sure, why not?” Gold mumbled as Moe shuffled into the room, Dove just behind him.  “Let’s have a party.  Invite the whole neighborhood.”

“Not helping, Diarmid,” Belle muttered as Moe paused to look Milah over.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

“Moe.  Who the hell are you?” he shot back, his bushy eyebrows drawing together.

“I’m Diarmid’s _wife_.”

Gold groaned at her pronouncement.  Moe’s understanding of the relationship between him and Belle was nebulous enough without Milah around to confuse the issue even more.  

“No, you’re not.  Belle is his wife.  You’re a liar.”  Moe looked up at Dove.  “When is she leaving?”

The big man fixed Milah with a look of disapproval.  “Soon, I would hope.”

From Dove, that was practically a declaration of war, and Gold stared at Dove and Moe, barely able to process what was happening— they were sticking up for him.

“Are you going to let them talk to me like this?” Milah demanded, her voice shrill.

Gold rather thought he might enjoy spending the rest of the evening watching Belle, Dove, and Moe verbally eviscerate his ex-wife.  “I believe I am, yes.”

“You owe _everything_ to me!” she snarled.  “If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be broke in Glasgow.  I pushed you.  I made you the man you are today.  Everything you have is thanks to _me_.”

Considering what she’d done to Bae and the way she’d warped his views about love and marriage, Gold was inclined to disagree.  The things in his life that he valued, he had in spite of Milah, not because of her.  There was no point in telling her that, however.  She would never understand.

Taking his silence as weakness, she pressed on.  “You think that because you got some gold-digging little whore to marry you that you’re better than me?  You’re _nothing_ , Diarmid.  You’re still the same pathetic fool that you always were, and it doesn’t matter how much money you have in the bank or how many sluts you have warming your bed, you will _always_ be nothing.”

“You shut up.”

The blunt words broke the spell that Milah had been weaving around him, allowing Gold to take a breath and clear his head, grateful that Moe had decided to come to his daughter’s defense.  His ex-wife’s words had been designed to seek out all of his weak spots, and she’d come too close to succeeding.

“You’re a horrible woman.  Diarmid is a nice boy.   You don’t know anything.  You’re a nasty liar and no one wants you here.  Go away.”  

Gold’s head spun at Moe’s speech.  It was the most he’d ever heard his father-in-law say at one go, but even more shockingly, it was Milah’s attack on Gold, not Belle, that had roused his ire.  Perhaps he simply hadn’t realized that a portion of Milah’s ugly words had been directed at his daughter, but even so, he’d still chosen to speak up.

It was the first time a father figure had ever come to his defense, and Gold felt his spine straightening.  Malcolm Gold had been a firm believer in letting his son fend for himself when he wasn’t trying to tear him down for his own amusement, and Diarmid Gold had quickly learned not to rely on anyone.  He was fifty-five years old, long past the need for anyone’s protection, but Moe’s staunch support spoke to something deep in his soul.  He wasn’t alone any more.  If he stumbled, he had people who were ready to catch him.

Dove drew himself up to his full height, and without actually moving a single inch closer to Milah, now seemed to be looming over her.  “Shall I escort her to the door?”

“If you would.”  

The moment Gold nodded his approval, Dove neatly herded a squawking Milah out the front door and firmly closed it in her face.  “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Moe gave the door a baleful look.  “Horrible woman.”

“You’ve got that right,” Belle agreed in a fervent tone.  “Ugh.  I’m sorry I didn’t get home sooner.”

“I was hoping to get rid of her before you came home at all, so I could spare you all that.”  Gold took a deep breath.  Without Belle’s support, Milah might well have succeeded in getting into his head since she knew exactly what buttons to push.  “I have to admit that I’m glad you were here.”

Belle leaned up to kiss his cheek.  “I’m glad I could help.”

“As am I,” Dove informed them.

Gold was opening his mouth to offer Dove a raise in thanks when the concern in the big man’s eyes finally registered.  Dove had come to his aid, not because he was defending the man who signed his paychecks, but because he actually cared.

“You’re a good friend, Dove.”

The small smile that appeared on Dove’s face told him that he’d gotten it right.  “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“You can call me Diarmid if you want.”  Based on the expression on Dove’s face, he wouldn’t be hearing his first name from that quarter, but at least he’d offered.

“Thank you for your offer,” Dove said politely.  “I believe I’d better take Moe back upstairs.  It’s been a stimulating evening.”

“Just a moment.”  Gold put a hand on his father-in-law’s shoulder and squeezed.  “Thank you, Moe.”

Moe’s brow furrowed.  “For what?”

Belle darted forward to kiss her father’s cheek, sparing him from finding an answer.  “Good night, Dad.”

With an apologetic look back over his shoulder, Dove chivied Moe up the stairs, their voices gradually fading as they returned to Moe’s room, leaving him and Belle alone.  Feeling light-headed, Gold staggered back into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling as he let his cane clatter to the floor.  

“Diarmid?  Are you okay?”  Belle claimed the spot next to him, sitting so close that she was practically in his lap.  

For the life of him, he wasn’t sure how to answer that question.  He’d faced down his ex-wife, a confrontation he would have preferred to go to his grave without having endured, but he hadn’t faced her alone.  Instead, Belle, Dove, and Moe had come to his defense, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were on his side.

Milah had gone for his jugular, but his family was there to defend him.

The hoarse sound that tore itself out of his throat made him jump, but despite his best efforts to swallow it back, he couldn’t seem to stop.  He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.

Instantly, Belle’s arms went around him.  “Oh Diarmid, it’s okay.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.  She can’t hurt you any more.  Everything is— are you _laughing_?”

Beyond words, Gold nodded before burying his face against Belle’s neck as he laughed until his sides ached.  Belle stroked his hair until the hilarity of the situation caught up with her, and she, too, dissolved into helpless giggles.

“You know, I had a mental image of how tonight was going to go,” she announced once she’d laughed herself out.  “That wasn’t it.”

That was enough to set both of them off again, and by the time Gold finally regained control of himself, he felt drained and giddy.  He leaned back against the arm of the sofa, bringing Belle with him until she lay against his chest.  “Sorry about the wine.  I meant to have it waiting for you.”

She flicked his nose.  “I’ll allow it this time, but don’t make a habit of it.”

“That sounds somewhat familiar.”

Belle ignored him as she settled herself more comfortably against him.  “How do you feel?”

“Like I just slew a dragon.”  With his family’s help, he’d broken the last hold Milah had on him.  Now, he could view her as an object of pity instead of someone to be feared.  Self-absorbed as she was, Milah would never know the kind of love he had in his life, and he could almost feel sorry for her.

“I guess we got an answer to one question tonight.”  At his inquisitive noise, Belle continued, “Dad does know that we’re married.”

“And it sounds like he approves of me.”  

“Of course he does.  You let him win at Battleship.”

“There’s no ‘letting him win’ involved.  He’s freakishly good at that game.”  Gold ran a hand over Belle’s back, the touch doing as much to settle his nerves as the whimsical conversation.  

“Another good thing about tonight—I’m not worried about the fundraiser any more.  If I can slap your ex-wife, I can handle anything Cora dishes out.”  Belle played idly with his cufflinks.

Gold chuckled against the top of her head.  “If you slap Cora, I’ll triple the money you raise.”

“I have to admit that it felt good,” she confessed.  “After everything she did to you and those horrible things she was saying… it was like I couldn’t stop myself.  I’ve never done anything like that before.  I can’t believe I did it.”

Her voice shook, and Gold pressed a long kiss to her hair.  “It means the world to me that you did.  The way you stood up for me… no one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

Belle lifted her head to brush her lips against his.  “No one is allowed to hurt you.  Not while I’m around.”

Her promise brought tears to his eyes.  It had taken him over half a century, but he’d finally found people who thought he was worthy of protection.  Even more amazingly, Gold found himself believing it too.  “I love you so much.”

Belle’s eyes shone.  “Good, because I love you too.  And you’re stuck with me.  Unlike Milah, I’m _never_ going to let you go.”

It was a beautiful promise, and Gold believed it with all of his heart.  This was forever.   _They_ were forever.

“You know that I’m going to hold you to that.”

Belle sealed her promise with another kiss.  “It’s a deal.”


	45. Chapter 45

“So, how does it feel to take your rightful place at the top of society?” Gold asked as the actors finally departed.  Belle’s friends were the last people to leave the fundraiser, and with them gone, he had the chance to speak privately with his wife for the first time since they left the house early that evening.

Belle beamed up at him.  “It went really well, didn’t it?”

“It went far better than ‘really well’,” he retorted, unable to hide his own smile, delighting in her happiness.  “It was a triumph.  And Cora looked fit to be tied the entire evening.”

In a single night, Belle had displaced her predecessor at the top of the social hierarchy, and best of all, Cora had no one to blame but herself.  She’d foisted the fundraiser off onto Belle, hoping to watch her rival fall flat on her face.  Instead, Belle had put together an evening that managed to put Cora’s own past efforts to shame.

Gold would be the first to admit that he was biased, but by anyone’s standards, Belle’s first fundraiser had been a smashing success.  The decorator she’d hired had transformed the now-darkened ballroom into Wonderland, relying on postmodern touches to keep things whimsical without ever becoming childish.  Her hand-picked chef had done things with food Gold didn’t even know were possible—apparently it was called molecular gastronomy— and the result had been as delicious as it was odd.  He was willing to bet that neither he nor Belle actually understood how the chef had managed to set a sorbet on fire without it melting, but he’d happily eat the dish every week of his life.

Transcendent as the food and decor were, they’d paled in comparison to the mystery Belle had spent weeks preparing her actors to present.  As he’d predicted, his contemporaries had thrown themselves into the game, and he’d derived as much pleasure from watching their strategies as he would have from playing himself.  He wasn’t sure which had amused him more: George King’s failed bid at bribing Will for the solution to the mystery or Anna’s unimpressed reaction when James King attempted to seduce answers out of her.  

“And we raised _so_ much money!” Belle enthused, her thoughts more noble than her husband’s inner monologue.  He was still smirking at the memory of the epic fit Regina had thrown when Lance, in his role as the Caterpillar, had decided to count her rhetorical utterance of _Are you serious?_ as one of her allotted three questions, completely throwing off her strategy.

“Your idea about selling hints was brilliant,” Belle added.  

“It was your idea, I simply refined it.”  Belle had come up with the idea of letting people buy hints if they got stuck or wanted to take shortcuts, seeing a potential revenue stream.  All Gold had done was suggest that instead of setting a price, she allow the guests to pay what they would for the information, reasoning that although a few cheapskates might take advantage, the vast majority of the crowd would enjoy the chance to publicly flaunt their wealth, throwing far more into the pot than Belle ever would have dared to ask for.

“We made over a hundred thousand dollars just from that.”  Belle took a deep breath and shook her head in wonder.  “This is going to help so many people.”

“And it’s all because of you,” he reminded her.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.  We make a good team.”  Her sweet smile generously invited him to take a share of the credit.  

“An excellent team,” he agreed, pretending to think, “It seems that we should do something about that.  You know… make it official.  Perhaps we should get married.”

He snapped his fingers.  “Oh wait!  We already are.”

“Silly.”  Belle looked at him fondly for a moment before turning to take in the scene.  Despite the horde of people that had spent the past six hours circulating through the ballroom, the decor had held up well, and now that it was just the two of them, it still felt like Wonderland.  

It was nearly two in the morning, but Gold wasn’t the slightest bit tired.  As he watched Belle slowly turn, absorbing the atmosphere, he admired her graceful figure.  The dress she’d chosen for the occasion was unconventional, but that only made it more perfect.  The full skirt skimmed her knees instead of reaching the floor like the gowns the other women had worn, and the square, off the shoulder neckline revealed her delicate collarbone in a way that made his mouth go dry, but the dress’s impact came from its fabric, not its lovely silhouette. Alternating stripes of shiny black and iridescent silver radiated out like a sunburst from her right hip, the silver catching the light in such a way that the dress seemed to change color with every movement Belle made.  Based on the envious glances she’d gotten, Gold was willing to bet that at the next gala every woman would be wearing a shorter hemline.

“What?” Belle asked when she caught him looking at her.  

“I’m just thinking about how beautiful my wife is.”

She blushed and glanced down, looking at her skirt like she’d never seen it before as she took hold of it and gently swished it back and forth.  “This cost a fortune.”

“It was worth every penny.”  He was pleased that she’d finally overcome her hangup about spending money on herself.  Belle deserved all the beautiful things she could ever want.

“You don’t look bad yourself,” she told him, stepping forward to play with his bow tie.  “If I knew my husband looked so sexy in a tuxedo, I would have insisted on a formal wedding.”

She was being kind, but hearing Belle call him sexy still made Gold’s stomach flutter before the rest of her statement caught up with him.  “Do you regret having such a small wedding?”  At the time, she’d seemed fine with their tiny, informal ceremony, but that was when their marriage had been little more than a business deal.

“I _loved_ our wedding,” Belle assured him.  “If we had to do it over again tomorrow, I’d want to do it exactly the same way.  Except I’d make you wear the tux.”

Gold chuckled, making a mental note to find reasons to break out the black tie on a regular basis.  “If it makes you happy, I’ll sleep in the damned thing.”

“I might hold you to that,” she threatened.  “But for now, I have something that will make you look even better.”

She darted away to retrieve something she’d stashed behind the Caterpillar’s mushroom, coming back a few moments later with a top hat held proudly in her hands.  Gold groaned at the sight, recognizing the Mad Hatter’s chapeau.  

“You’re going to be horrendously disappointed,” he warned, but he still lowered his head to allow her to crown him with the hat.

“No, I don’t think I am.”  Belle’s eyes shone as she stepped back to look at him, her hands clasped in front of her.  “Mr. Darcy has nothing on Mr. Gold.”

If she was going to keep flattering him like this, his head was going to swell too big for the hat.  Allowing himself to be ridiculous, Gold removed the hat and swept his wife an extravagant bow.  “Miss French, you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Belle giggled at his performance, nodding in satisfaction when he replaced the hat on his head.  “I love you too, but I’ll have you know that my name is Mrs. Gold.”

“That sounds much better.”

“Speaking of our wedding…”  Belle bit her lip.  “What about you?  Would you change anything?  I mean, knowing what you know now.”

“Yes.”  When Belle’s face fell, he let his cane drop and took her hands, guiding one to his shoulder before he placed his hand on her waist, assuming the classical waltz position.  “I would have insisted on dancing with my wife.”

“We’ve never danced together, have we?” Belle looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“There’s no time like the present.”  There was no music, but Gold saw no reason to let that stop them.  Humming his best approximation of a waltz, he took a small step forward, delighted when Belle perfectly matched his movement.  In this, as in everything else, they were the perfect team.

His bad leg prevented him from attempting any creative steps and the weak limb meant that he had to lean on Belle heavier than any dance instructor would have countenanced, but with no one to see them, it didn’t matter if they looked a little awkward.  He was dancing with his wife, and that was a beautiful thing.

He rested his cheek against her hair, thrilling when Belle responded by leaning into him, her breath caressing his throat.  Their steps, never large, became even smaller until they doing little more than swaying together in their private Wonderland.

“I had no idea my husband was such a romantic,” Belle murmured.

“I didn’t know it either,” Gold admitted.  It wasn’t a word he ever would have applied to himself, but now that he thought about it, he wondered if it wasn’t as simple as that until Belle, he’d never had anyone to be romantic _for_.  Something like this never would have appealed to Milah, and he’d internalized the lessons she’d taught him.  Now, he was discovering a long-buried facet of his personality.

Belle had changed him, but she wasn’t turning him into someone new.  Rather, she was helping him become the man he was always supposed to be.

Eventually, even the gentle swaying got to be too much for his bad leg, and Gold winced as a spasm went through his knee.  Instantly, Belle tucked herself under his arm, offering him her support until they could retrieve his cane.  “I’m sorry.”

Belle gave his side a gentle poke once she was certain he could stand on his own two feet again.  “I’m not.  We had a beautiful dance.  It’s better to stop now rather than push it until you’re so done up that you can’t walk for days.”  

Her staunch practicality made him smile, short-circuiting his self pity.  Belle was right: cutting one dance short wasn’t the end of the world.  After all, they had the rest of their lives to dance together.  

“Besides, as beautiful as this dress is, I’m ready to get out of it, and my feet are _killing_ me.”  The face she pulled made him laugh out loud.

“In that case, Mrs. Gold, your chariot awaits.”  

Belle took her sky-high heels off the second she was seated in the Cadillac, groaning in relief.  “These shoes are fabulous, but they hurt like hell.”

“I’ll give you a foot rub once we get home,” Gold promised.

“Drive fast.”

Gold tipped his hat at her imperious command before stowing it carefully on the back seat.  “As you wish.”

Despite his promise, he took his time, and Belle didn’t argue, leaning back in her seat to admire the scenery they passed.  “What did you like best about tonight?” she asked idly.

“Other than our dance?”  When Belle nodded, he tried to find a way to put it into words.  “I enjoyed watching you succeed.  Tonight, everyone got to see how brilliant and creative my wife is, but more importantly, now you know that you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“That’s really sweet.”  Her gentle smile told him that he’d found the right words for her.

“What about you?  What did you like best?”

“It felt really good seeing everything come together.  I felt like I _made_ something.  I mean, I didn’t do the decorations or make the food or write the script, but I’m the one who brought it all together.”  Belle tapped her finger against her skirt as she considered the matter.  “And we raised so much money for such a good cause.  I did that.”

“You certainly did,” he agreed.  

Her smile turned wicked.  “And showing up Cora wasn’t bad either.”

Gold chuckled.  “I whole-heartedly agree.”

“I’m glad Leopold and Eva won.  They seem so nice.”  Belle smiled at the memory of presenting the Blanchards with the sculpture.

Gold smiled at the memory of the look on Cora’s face during the recognition ceremony.  “That was certainly the icing on the cake.”

At Belle’s puzzled look, he explained, “There is a _lengthy_ history between the Mills family and the Blanchards, one that involves our mayor and her husband as well.  Didn’t you ever wonder why David Nolan looks so much like James King?”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted.  “I don’t know.  I guess I just thought it was one of those ‘everyone has a twin somewhere’ things.”

“Quite,” Gold said drily.  “I’ll tell you the whole dramatic, incestuous story some time.  Perhaps you can write a book about it.  But for now, the short version is that compared to how Cora feels about Leopold and Eva Blanchard, she worships the ground you and I walk on.  Having them win tonight just pours lemon juice in the open wound of her seething resentment.”

“Please tell me you’re using ‘incestuous’ metaphorically,” Belle pleaded.

“Mostly.”

“Ugh.”

“I have a surprise for you when we get home,” Gold announced in an effort to distract Belle from thinking about the Blanchard/ Mills feud.  In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have brought that up.  This night was about Belle.  She didn’t need to be distracted from enjoying her triumph by his colleagues’ interpersonal drama.

Her amused smile assured him that his gambit had worked.  “It’s not a surprise if you tell me about it.”

“But you don’t know what it is,” he reminded her.  “Hence the surprise.”

Belle put her hand on his thigh.  “Diarmid, you know you don’t have to do this, don’t you?  I’m not expecting presents every time I turn around.”

“But I enjoy buying you gifts.”  Right from the start of their relationship, he’d enjoyed spoiling her, and as their relationship developed, the pleasure he took in it had only deepened.  “Besides, this one is special.”

His stomach flipped over at the thought of the gift-wrapped box waiting for Belle in his office.  She would like it, he knew she would, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was about to offer her his own heart tied up with a bow.

“You’re going to be hard-pressed to top what Neal and Emma got me.”  Belle’s voice was light, but her eyes shone at the memory.

“Aye.  That I will.”  His own voice was rough at the thought of the bouquet of yellow roses Bae and Emma had arranged to have delivered this afternoon.  The flowers, although lovely, were only the vehicle for the real gift— a card with the inscription “Good luck tonight, Mom!” signed from both of them.

Belle had cried when she read it and cried more when she called Bae and Emma to thank them.  Hers weren’t the only eyes that were wet.  It had taken Gold thirty-three years, but he’d finally managed to give Bae the mother he deserved.  His family was complete at last.

“Am I supposed to guess what the surprise is?” Belle asked.

“You can try.”  Gold kept his face carefully blank.  He couldn’t imagine how any twitch of his expression could possibly give her a hint, but Belle occasionally proved capable of reading his mind.

“Is it the moray eel I asked for?  Bob?”

“We agreed to name it Cora, and no, I did not get you an eel.”  The fact that Belle wasn’t taking the guessing game too seriously made it easier to play.  

Her guesses grew increasingly outlandish as they drove, making it hard for him to keep a straight face even as he filed away a few of her more interesting ideas.  Christmas would be here soon enough, and it paid to be prepared although there was no way he was going to put a pet eel under the tree or anywhere else for that matter.

“A year’s supply of pickled beets,” she guessed as they pulled into the driveway.

“I’d rather buy you the eel.”  

The house was quiet when they entered, as was normal for three o’clock in the morning.  Belle glanced at the stairs when they entered but she made no move to ascend them, instead padding barefoot into the living room.  With a groan, she dropped onto the couch and leaned back.  “I can’t wait to tell Dad about tonight.  I wonder if he’ll understand.”

“Well, he knew that you were planning a party.”  Moe had been miffed about not being invited until Dove managed to smooth things over.

“I wish he could have been there, but it would have been too much for him.”  Belle leaned back against the arm of the sofa and drew up her legs, tapping the cushion next to her with her foot to invite him to join her.

“We’ll show him the pictures,” Gold promised.  

Belle frowned up at him.  “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“In a moment.  First, I think we need some champagne to celebrate, and I did say something about a present, didn’t I?’

Apparently, Belle disagreed because she was on her feet again in an instant.  At his puzzled look, she explained, “I’ll get the champagne.  You’ve been on your feet enough for one night.  I can tell that your leg is bothering you.”

It was, but he’d thought he was hiding the discomfort.  “I’m fine.”

Belle rolled her eyes at him, taking the sting away by leaning up to kiss his cheek.  “You’re a horrible liar.”

It was obvious that there would be no arguing with her.  “Fine.  You get the champagne while I fetch your gift.  We’ll meet back here in three minutes.”

Belle snapped off a salute.  “Yes, sir!”

She let out a smothered yelp when he gave her behind a playful swat.  “Brat.”

“Be nice or I’ll drink all the champagne myself,” she threatened.

Even with his limp, Gold managed to beat his wife back to the living room, placing the small box directly in the center of the coffee table.  She was certain to like his offering, he assured himself as he waited for her to return.  Not long ago, he would have feared he was being presumptuous, but Belle’s reaction to Milah’s visit had eased the last of his worries.  

Belle had a glass in each hand and the bottle tucked under her arm when she rejoined him, her skirt billowing around her as she claimed the spot next to him on the sofa and tucked her feet under her.  “A toast,” she proposed as she offered him a glass.

“To Wonderland,” he suggested, and she smiled as she clinked the rim of her glass against his.

“I don’t know how I’m going to top it next year.”  She closed her eyes as she took a swallow, making a satisfied noise that went straight to his groin.

Gold took a long swig of his own, trying to drown those feelings.  He and Belle had repaired their marriage, but sex was still off the table for the time being until Belle finished working through her own demons.  As long as he could sleep beside her, Gold had no complaints.  At least not most of the time.

“There’s plenty of time to worry about that later,” he said practically.  “We could do Narnia and rent some lions if you want to make a real splash.”

Belle snickered at the suggestion.  “Only if we can train the lions to eat Cora.”

“I’m certain that can be arranged.”

“Problem solved.”  Belle tapped her glass against his again before draining it, and Gold followed suit, then plucked the champagne flute from her fingers and put it aside.  

“For you,” he announced as he deposited the gift in her lap.

Eyes bright, Belle examined the wrapped package as thoroughly as if she was attempting to develop X-ray vision.  When she gave the box a shake, Gold instinctively winced, and she stopped at once.  “Is it fragile?”

“Not as much as I once thought.”

“It’s too small to be an eel,” she joked, but there was a tiny furrow between her eyebrows.  “I don’t have a clue what it is.”

“There’s one way to find out.”  Gold leaned forward, watching eagerly as she slipped her fingers under one flap and pulled the tape loose.

Once the wrapping paper was gone, the small white box that was revealed offered no hints as to its contents.  “It’s too big to be jewelry, but it’s too small and light to be anything else I can think of.”

“It’s not jewelry,” he agreed, trying not to squirm with anticipation.

Belle looked at the box for another moment, then shrugged.  “I give up.”

Carefully, she removed the lid and gasped at what she found inside— a delicate blue and white teacup, once shattered, now restored.  Instead of using glue, Gold had hired an artisan to do even better, bonding the broken pieces back together with liquid gold.  Instead of cracks, the teacup was spiderwebbed with lines of gold, turning what was once a pile of rubble into a work of art.

“ _Diarmid_ …” Belle breathed, her breath quick and shallow as she lifted the teacup out of its nest of tissue paper.  “It’s our cup… the one I broke…. You kept it?”

“I kept it,” he confirmed.  “It was a reminder for me of what I’d done, how badly I broke our marriage.  But we fixed it.  It’s better now than it ever was before, and the cracks don’t matter.  They’re beautiful because they’re _ours_.”

He had the feeling that he wasn’t explaining himself particularly well.  In hindsight, he probably should have practiced this speech, but it was too late to start over.  “It’s called _Kintsugi_.  It’s a Japanese art.  They use gold to fix broken things as a way of honoring the damage instead of trying to cover it up.  The broken places make it even more beautiful than it was when it was whole.”

Belle was crying, silent tears running down her face as she gazed at the cup.  “I can’t believe you did this.”

Clutching the cup against her chest with one hand, Belle flung herself forward into his arms.  “It’s so beautiful!  And it’s us.  It’s just like us.  We were broken, but it made us better… stronger.”

Gold wrapped his arms around his wife, delighted that she’d understood perfectly.  He knew she would.  He pressed a kiss to the patch of skin just below her ear.  “So, did I top Bae and Emma?”

Belle laughed through her tears.  “Let’s call it a tie.”

She adjusted herself so she was sitting on the sofa beside him, her legs draped over his lap as she held the cup so they both could admire it.  “This was such a beautiful idea, Diarmid.  However did you think of it?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist.  “I was going to just glue it back together myself, but that didn’t seem right.  Trying to put it back together would be like trying to go backwards, and that’s not what we did.  When I stumbled across the concept of kintsugi, it seemed perfect.”

“Absolutely perfect,” Belle agreed, turning her face for a kiss.  “I love you, Diarmid.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”  He could finally say the words without feeling self-conscious.

Belle played with the cup, turning it this way and that to admire it from every angle, and Gold passed the time admiring her until she finally leaned over to put the cup back in its box for safekeeping.  “We’ll have to find a place to display it.”

“I thought, perhaps, the bedroom?”  By anyone’s standards, the teacup was a beautiful work of art, but he couldn’t bear the idea of just anyone seeing it.  It was far too personal to share.

“I was thinking the same thing.”  Belle’s eyes smiled at him.

“Of course you were,” he said indulgently, quietly marveling at how far they’d come.  They understood each other so much better now, and it never ceased to astonish him just how much they had in common.

Belle sighed.  “I hate to get up, but I’ve had just about enough of this dress for one night.”

“You’ll be far more comfortable in your pajamas,” Gold agreed.  “And I believe I promised you a foot rub?”

“That you did.”  Instead of getting up, Belle nestled closer to him, leaning in to take his bottom lip between her teeth and suck gently.  

Gold swallowed a moan, holding himself stock-still for fear of losing control.  It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed since the night at the beach, but it was the first time Belle had kissed him quite like _that_ , and his body was suddenly having some trouble remembering that they were currently chaste bed partners.

“I’m not in the mood for a foot rub,” Belle announced as she released him and climbed off of his lap.  

When Gold stared blankly up at her, she smiled and held out her hand.  “Come to bed with me, Diarmid.”

Her smile told him wordlessly exactly what she wanted, and Gold nearly fell over himself in his haste to stand up, his head swimming.  He didn’t know what had changed, but clearly _something_ had.  Belle, who’d been very clear about her need for him to keep his hands to himself over the past four months, wanted him to make love to her.

He caught hold of her hand, and the welcoming squeeze she gave his fingers convinced him that this wasn’t a dream.  Belle _wanted_ him.  He was going to make love to his wife.  

Holding his breath, Gold clung to her hand and allowed his wife to lead him upstairs.


	46. Chapter 46

As if in a dream, Gold followed Belle up the stairs to their bedroom, his wife glancing back every so often to smile at him, drawing him in like a siren.  For her touch, he would gladly drown.

Still, he couldn’t quite suppress the little voice in the back of his mind that was insisting this was all happening too fast.  If Belle was simply being carried away by a wave of elation after her triumph, she might well regret this in the morning, and that was a risk he couldn’t take.  Once, he’d thought only about his own needs, and it had almost destroyed them.  He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.  He couldn’t bear the idea that Belle might wake up tomorrow and think that he’d taken advantage of her.

Once they were ensconced in their bedroom, Belle turned her back on him, glancing at him over her shoulder with a teasing smile.  “Do you want to unzip me?”

There was nothing in the world he wanted more, but Gold knew that he had to put a stop to this.  Letting his cane fall, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders and squeezed gently.  “We shouldn’t do this.”

A flicker of hurt crossed her face.  “Why not?”

“Because…” He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.  “It’s been a _big_ day.  You want this now, but things might look very different in the morning.”

“You think I only want you because I’m hopped up on champagne,” she suggested as she turned to face him.  He had to be wrong, but Gold would swear that he could see a trace of amusement in her eyes.

He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but when Belle made no move to shrug him off, he kept them where they were, careful not to let his thumbs stroke the skin bared by her dress.  “Among other things.”

“Oh, Diarmid…” Her voice was fond.  “You worry too much.  I decided a week ago that I wanted to do this tonight.”

Her words staggered him.  “Come again?”

Belle bit her lower lip, and the urge to fall to his knees and beg to do it for her nearly broke him.  “That makes it sound like I was saving sex for a special occasion, doesn’t it?  That’s not really what I mean.  I’ve been ready for the past week, but I’ve been so busy with the fundraiser that I just didn’t have the time or the energy.”

She smiled winsomely up at him.  “But now that the fundraiser’s over I can spend the next week in bed if I want to.  And maybe I can talk my husband into keeping me company.”

The relief that washed over him made Gold’s head spin as Belle removed his hands from her shoulders to take them in her own, swinging them gently between their bodies.  Sleeping with him wasn’t an impulsive decision that she would regret in the morning.  Belle had been planning this for the past week, and that thought was the single most erotic thing he could imagine.  For the past week, while he’d been happily oblivious, his wife had been planning to have sex with him tonight.

He couldn’t decide if he was glad she’d played her cards close to the vest or not.  If she’d clued him in to what she was thinking, he could have prepared a bit better.  At the very least, he could have arranged for candles and rose petals.  On the other hand, if he’d spent the last week counting the minutes until this moment, he probably would have spontaneously combusted several days ago.

“You had a breakthrough with Hopper.”  Never again would he joke about the therapist’s exorbitant fees.  If the man could offer Belle peace of mind, he was worth every penny.

“Not quite.”  Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter.

If it wasn’t Hopper who’d helped her banish her demons, Gold couldn’t imagine what had done the trick.  “Then what changed?”

“Milah.”

Gold could only imagine the pole-axed expression on his face at Belle’s pronouncement.  “ _Milah_?”

“She called me a whore that night,” Belle explained, shaking her head.  “I don’t know.  It was like something just clicked.  She was spewing such horrible nonsense about you and Neal that when she called me that, it was just more of the same.  She was wrong about everything else, so she had to be wrong about that too.  That’s when I could finally believe it.  I’m not a whore.”

“Of course you’re not,” Gold agreed automatically, trying to wrap his head around her explanation.  Milah, of all people, had been the one to cure Belle’s final hang-up.  She’d have a _fit_ if she knew that she’d unwittingly fixed their sex life.

A mental image of the look of disgust on Milah’s face should she ever learn the truth materialized in front of his eyes, and Gold’s snort of laughter was loud and abrupt in the quiet room.  For some reason, the noise just made him laugh harder, doubling him over until his ribs ached.

He clung to Belle’s hands, hoping against hope that she didn’t think he was laughing at her, but a moment later, her laughter joined his.  “Isn’t it ridiculous?” she asked through her giggles.  “I can only imagine how pissed she would be if she knew she helped me out.”

“She’d be fit to be tied,” Gold agreed, finally managing to regain control of himself.

“Maybe we should send her a fruit basket.”

Belle’s suggestion set him off again, and he had to pull one hand out of her grasp to wipe the tears of laughter off his cheeks.  With a sigh, he rested his forehead against hers.  “It’s nice to know that my ex-wife is good for _something_.”

“I think we got a lot of good out of her visit.”  Belle released him to tick the positives off on her fingers.  “We found out that Dad knows we’re married.”

“And he approves of me,” Gold added.  If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget what it felt like to have Moe come to his defense.  No wonder Belle was so devoted to her father.

“Plus, dealing with Milah made me more confident, and I think it was good for you too.  Before she showed up, it was like she was the Bogeyman.  Now, you know she’s just a person.”  

“A miserable person, but a person nonetheless,” Gold agreed.  Milah no longer had any power over him.  Even better, he now had the appealing memory of watching Belle slap his ex-wife across the face.  It was probably ridiculous for a fifty-five year old man to need protection, but nothing had ever made him feel safer than having Belle, Moe, and Dove all come to his defense.

“See?  She’s good for a lot of things.”  Belle took a step back, sweetening the distance between them with a coquettish smile.  “And now I think I’m ready to stop talking about your ex-wife.”

The look on her face made Gold’s mouth go dry, but he rallied.  “What should we talk about instead?  Art?  Literature?  Toast?”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who can have a deep, philosophical discussion about the meaning of toast.  It’s no wonder I love you.”  Belle’s fond smile turned wicked.  “But unless you’re planning to lick marshmallow fluff off of me… No, I do not want to talk about toast.”

Gold did a few quick calculations and reached the conclusion that the pleasure of licking it off of Belle’s skin would outweigh the revolting mouthfeel of the marshmallow fluff.  At the same time, he could also think of a variety of much more pleasant things to lick off of her.  But that was for another encounter.  After four months without her, he wanted nothing to detract from the exquisite flavor of Belle herself.

“I have no such plans at this time,” he informed her, clearing his throat to try to banish the gravelly note that had crept in.

Belle’s smile widened before she once again turned her back on him.  “In that case, I think you said something about unzipping me?”

She was the one who’d suggested it, but if his wife wanted to give him credit for a brilliant idea, Gold wouldn’t argue.  The design of her dress made the zipper all but invisible, but he found it eventually and took his time drawing it down, dragging out the moment for both of them.

They were going to make love.

It was the first time that was true.  They’d had sex—and plenty of it—at the beginning of their marriage, but this was the first time they were going to go to bed together knowing that they weren’t just partners in a transactional arrangement.  They were in love.

Heedless of its cost, Gold let the dress drop to the floor to billow around Belle’s feet as he pressed his lips to the back of her neck with a smothered sob.  This was real.  He was in love with his wife, and she loved him, and they were about to properly consummate their marriage at last.

“None of that.  This is a happy occasion,” Belle chided gently.  She turned, her eyes searching his face to make certain that he was all right, and Gold marveled at her tender solicitation.  No matter what she had planned for tonight, if he expressed a single misgiving right now, she’d bundle both of them into bed and set to work soothing his worries, her own desires set aside.

Belle had spent far too much time ignoring her own desires for the sake of others, so it was fortunate that Gold’s only worry at the moment was how he was going to find the patience to remove his clothes without simply tearing the garments off his body.  He couldn’t care less about the fate of his tuxedo, but if Belle liked it, it needed to survive the night.

To distract himself, he let his gaze wander over Belle, immediately realizing his mistake.  Beneath her dress, she’d chosen to wear lacy lilac underthings that made her look positively edible, and she’d capped the entire look off with thigh-high black silk stockings.  “You’re trying to kill me.”

She smiled at his groan.  “I happened to remember that my husband has a fondness for stockings like this, so I thought I’d indulge him.  It’s a special occasion after all.”

“Your husband is a _very_ lucky man,” Gold heard himself growl.

“Isn’t he though?”  Belle’s lips twitched with amusement.

More than anything, Gold wanted her stocking-clad legs wrapped around his hips, and he was wearing too damn many clothes.  When his hands went to his bowtie, Belle made a reproving noise.  “I want to do it.”

Obediently, he let his hands fall, holding his breath as she stepped closer and gave his tie a gentle tug, pulling it loose.  Taking hold of either end of the strip of silk, she used it as a leash to pull his head down so she could brush her lips against his.  “I love you, Diarmid.”

The words tasted even sweeter than they sounded, and he chased them with his tongue, groaning when Belle parted her lips for him, allowing him entrance to her mouth.  When his bad leg protested, he placed his hands on her waist to steady himself, the feel of her smooth, warm skin beneath his palms almost more closeness than he could endure and still keep his sanity.

Too soon, Belle pulled away.  “I’ve kept you standing for too long.”

“I’m fine,” he hastened to assure her, cursing the old injury that prevented him from picking her up so he could feel her wrapped around him.

Belle gave him a look filled with affectionate exasperation.  “Knock it off.  Your leg hurts.  It isn’t a character flaw.  You know that it doesn’t bother me, don’t you?  It’s a part of you, and I love everything about you.”

At her sweet words, the last of his insecurities disappeared like morning mist burned away by the sun’s rays.  Belle’s light was too powerful to resist.  True, he couldn’t stand in the middle of their bedroom and support Belle’s weight, but there were a million other things he _could_ do.  When he thought about it like that, it seemed ridiculous to focus on the one flaw in a sea of wonderful things.  “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Prove it.”  Her smile took his breath away.  

“With pleasure.” Gold couldn’t tell if he was backing her toward the bed or if she was leading him there, and that was the perfect illustration of their partnership.

Once they reached the bed, Belle pushed him down to sit on the edge of the mattress.  “You know what _does_ bother me?  How many clothes you’re still wearing.”

Gold let out a desperate chuckle as Belle set to work stripping him from the waist up, batting his hands away when he reached to help her.  “I thought you liked how I look in a tuxedo.”

Her smile widened.  “I do, but I like how you look out of it even more.”

It took all the strength he had to remain still as she undressed him, her fingers stroking his bare skin at delicious random, never allowing him to brace himself for her touch because he never knew when and where it would come.  “This is unfair.”

Belle paused in her act of tugging his shirt free from his waistband.  “How so?”

“You’re touching me, but I can’t touch you.”  Far too much of Belle’s skin was on display for the sake of his sanity, and Gold ached with the need to touch her.

The quick kiss she dropped on the tip of his nose made him smile in spite of himself, soothing his frustrated longing.  “Soon,” she promised.

Gold arched his head back as Belle helped him out of his shirt and ran her fingers down the length of his spine.  “Gorgeous,” she murmured.

“Sweetheart, please…” he begged, her enchanting little touches driving him out of his head.

She took a step back, admiring him like he was a work of art for a long moment before she reached out to trace one finger around his right nipple with almost clinical precision.

Gold nearly swallowed his tongue, the touch sending a jolt of sensation through him that went straight to his cock, bringing him to full attention in a matter of moments.  The hungry noise he made echoed in the quiet room, and Belle smiled at the sound of it before she treated his other nipple to the same attention, watching avidly as it shrunk into a tight bud.

“I love that,” she breathed.  “Do you have any idea how sexy that is?”

“ _Belle_ …” he growled, his accent so thick that he could barely understand himself.

“Hush,” she chided.  “I’m enjoying my husband.”

Gold gave up, fisting his hands in the bedclothes in an attempt to hold himself together as Belle leaned down to scatter feather-light kisses over his shoulders and chest.  The sight of her soft pink lips caressing his skin was more than he could bear, and he squeezed his eyes shut in desperation, his body trembling.  The self-imposed darkness only heightened the sensations, every molecule of his being straining to be closer to his wife.  He could feel each individual strand of her hair when it brushed against his overheated skin, and the quick puff of her breath that preceded each tiny kiss made him want to howl.

Warm lips pressed a firm kiss just above his jaw.  “Thank you,” Belle murmured as she traced the shell of his ear with the tip of her tongue.  “I needed that.”

With effort, he forced his eyes open to see Belle smiling tenderly at him.  “You’re driving me mad,” he warned.

“You’ve been very patient,” she praised, and for some reason, that was almost as erotic as her touch.  “Let’s get you out of the rest of these clothes, then you can have your turn.”

She pulled away to kneel at his feet, and with efficient movements, she ridded him of his shoes and socks before reaching for his fly.  Gold slammed his eyes closed, the sight of her hands so close to the part of him that was desperate for her attentions more than he could endure.

Mercifully, Belle was careful not to touch him as she eased down his zipper, but just the relief of having his straining length freed from the confines of his trousers made him groan.  He lifted his hips, trying to help as she pulled down his trousers, leaving him naked save for his boxers.  Even the light touch of silk was almost too much against his hypersensitive skin.  

“There you go.  Isn’t that better?” she murmured.

“Come here,” he pleaded.  He was burning up, and only her touch could soothe him.

Taking his words literally, Belle straddled his lap, and Gold crushed his mouth against hers to muffle his shout as he found himself pressed against her most intimate place with only two flimsy layers of fabric separating them.  She was hot, so very hot, and the realization that touching him had been enough to put her in that state nearly made his brain smoke.

With an eager noise, Belle plunged her tongue into his mouth to play with his own, and all Gold could do was splay his hands over her back and hold on for dear life as they dueled for control of the kiss.  In return, her fingers delved into his hair, tugging at it in a way that made his toes curl.  

Eventually, he won their duel— or, more likely, she let him win— and Gold moaned as he explored her mouth.  Belle had always enjoyed being kissed, but she seemed to have so many more sensitive spots now.  Everything he did provoked wonderful, smothered noises as she pressed herself against him, and he realized that this was the first time she’d ever felt free enough with him to truly let herself go.  

If that was the case, he was damn well going to make it worth her while.  They’d consummated their marriage months ago, but there had been so much distance between them that it barely counted.  Now they knew each other heart and soul, and that made this their wedding night.

Belle whimpered when he broke the kiss, and Gold nipped at her bottom lip.  “It’s my turn.”

Rueful understanding dawned in her glazed eyes.  “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Quite.”

Without another word, he lowered her to the bed, mourning the loss of having her legs wrapped around his waist.  Still, the denial was good for his peace of mind.  If he wanted to make this good for Belle, he needed to have all of his wits about him, and the feel of her pressed against his aching cock was enough to drive every thought save for the pounding _need_ out of his head.

He sat back just enough to take in the picture that she made sprawled out on their bed like a gift from the gods.  Her skin was flushed a delectable shade of pink, and the way her lacy strapless bra was pushing up her breasts made him think evil thoughts.  And then there were the stockings.

Oh god, the _stockings_.

As if the sight of her shapely legs encased in silk, the sheer black fabric contrasting deliciously with the pale skin of her inner thighs, wasn’t enough, the symbolism alone was enough to set him ablaze.  By her own admission, Belle had chosen to wear stockings because she remembered his fondness for them from their adventure in Ariel’s boutique.  When she rolled her stockings on while dressing this evening, she’d done it with the intention of just this moment.  She’d chosen to wear stockings to please him, and nothing had ever been more arousing.

“Like what you see?” Belle asked with a cheeky smile.

Gold managed a laugh that sounded more like a groan.  “I’m going to eat you alive.”

She purred at the threat, her back arching in a way that drew his gaze inexorably back to her breasts.  “Yes, please.”

With shaking hands, he reached for the fastening of her bra, a quick glance at her face assuring him that Belle was ready to take that step.  She sighed as he slowly drew the lacy garment away from her body, baring her breasts with their sweet, rosy nipples, and Gold could suddenly relate to her earlier fascination with his body.

For better or for worse, he lacked Belle’s patience.  To tease her now was beyond his comprehension.  Instead, he lowered his head as slowly as he could, giving her time to think about what was coming before he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked gently, feeling the delicate bud harden against his tongue.

Beneath him, Belle whimpered and tossed her head, plunging her fingers into his hair to hold him exactly where he wanted to be.  Gold growled, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked harder, trying to take as much of her in as possible.

She was sweet, so very sweet, and he was utterly addicted to the taste of her skin and the glorious little broken noises she was making in the back of her throat.  When she tugged at his hair, he did as she bade, shifting his focus to her neglected breast until she was panting like she’d just run a marathon.  Only then did he tear himself away to nuzzle the undersides of her breasts, rubbing his face against them like a cat.  

“God, Diarmid…” Belle muttered, and he stole a glance up at her face, taking in her flushed skin and dilated pupils.  He’d done that to her, and he was just getting started.  

“Do you want more?” he crooned.

“You know I do.”  Belle arched beneath him, begging wordlessly for more, but it wasn’t enough.  

He gave her hip a teasing flick.  “Greedy girl.  Ask nicely.”

Her blazing eyes told him that he was going to pay for that later, and Gold could scarcely wait to see what form her punishment would take.  To her credit, Belle knew how to choose her moment, and she played along with his game.  “ _Please_ , Diarmid…”

“Please what?” he asked, and it took most of his concentration to keep his voice light and idle, as though he couldn’t possibly care less what she said next.

For a moment, Belle’s face was a storm cloud, then it cleared as she gave him her sweetest smile.  “Please go down on me.”

In the morning, Gold would disavow all knowledge of the high-pitched wheeze that escaped his chest at her request.  She’d done it on purpose.  He _knew_ she had, and the amusement that glittered in Belle’s eyes told him that she knew that he knew.

He was just going to have to do something that drove every thought of laughter out of her head.  With one quick movement he divested her of her panties, leaving the stockings in place, and Belle squealed, slapping a hand over her mouth at the last second to muffle the sound.  Gold admired her presence of mind.  They did _not_ need Moe coming to investigate things that went bump in the night.

“You have to be quiet,” he reminded her as he took his place between her thighs, his mouth watering.  For a moment, he simply indulged himself, nuzzling at the bare skin he found at the tops of her stockings, loving the contrast between the cool silk of the garment and the warm satin of Belle’s skin.  

Before she could get too comfortable, he redirected his attention to the place where she needed him most, burying his nose in her as he reacquainted himself with her rich fragrance.  Above him, Belle groaned, her back arching, and he slipped his hands beneath her to fill them with the curve of her behind.

Like this, it was easy to encourage her to rock against him as he started to explore, using her movements and muffled sounds to guide him.  He would give her everything she wanted, absolutely everything.  He had four months of pleasure to make up for, and there was no time to start like the present.

To his delight, Belle draped her legs over his shoulders, letting him go deeper yet, and Gold lost himself in the rhythm of loving her with his mouth.  She was melting against his tongue, and the sweet, broken noises she made were enough to sustain him for a lifetime.  If she allowed him nothing but this, he would die a happy man.

Leisurely, he thrust against the mattress, taking the edge off of his own desires.  The friction was just enough to ease his own hunger, allowing him to focus solely on Belle.  This was about her.  Her pleasure was what mattered now.  His own could wait, for hours if she would permit it.  He could think of no better way to spend his time than in worshipping his wife.

When her movements became jerky and frantic, Gold doubled his efforts, concentrating on the tiny bud that made her shudder.  Instead of giving herself over to the pleasure, Belle tensed and took hold of his hair, pulling him away.

Gold wrenched himself back, his heart sinking.  He’d done something wrong, displeased her, and that was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.  

Before he could apologize, Belle growled, “Get up here.”

She sounded almost enraged, but there was no anger in her face.  Her eyes were so dilated that they looked nearly black, her breasts heaving in a most distracting way with her rapid breath.  She looked like a woman who was drowning in lust, and that made her refusal to let him finish his task even more puzzling.  “Don’t you want me to…?”

He trailed off, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence in a way that wasn’t unbearably crude.  Belle drew her legs off his shoulders and held her hand out to him, beckoning him closer.  “When I come, I want you inside of me.”

For a moment, Gold feared that he would black out as the blood drained out of his head, heading somewhere lower.  Feeling like he was watching from outside of his body, he crawled up the length of the bed, hovering over Belle as he claimed her mouth, sharing her flavor with her.

“Please, Diarmid,” Belle begged as their lips parted.

“Anything,” he vowed, his voice ragged.  

“I want you.”  

“ _Yes_.”  He hastily shucked off his boxers and settled himself beside her, pulling Belle into his arms so that her back was flush with his chest, his erection pressing eagerly against her backside.  Despite his best efforts to restrain himself, his hips twitched, and just that amount of friction nearly sent him over the edge.

With one hand, he palmed her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb as he reached down to draw her leg back.  Belle got the idea instantly, squirming against him to line them up.  

“Put me inside of you,” he requested as he buried his face against her throat to lavish her with kisses.  He _needed_ this, needed to feel her inviting him in.

When she wrapped her hand around him, he grunted, and she let out a breathless laugh.  “I love the noises you make.”

Then she was guiding him into her body, and it was all he could do to keep from shouting at the exquisite pleasure.  He was inside of Belle.  After months of hard work, they’d found their way back to each other at last, and nothing was ever going to tear them apart again.  

In this position, he could touch her everywhere, and Gold took advantage of the freedom to caress her breasts and run his hand over her leg, feeling her warmth through the stockings she was still wearing.  Heaven help him if she chose to make a habit of wearing them.  He was never going to be able to look at her legs in public again.

Slowly, he started to rock against her, giving both of them time to get used to it.  Belle, not content to simply allow herself to be worshipped without participating, reached back to stroke his hip as she turned her head, begging wordlessly for a kiss.

If he strained his neck, he could give her what she wanted.  The odd angle made things awkward and a little sloppy, but his mouth was fused with Belle’s, and he was moving inside of her, and nothing in the world could be more beautiful than that.

With a gasp, Belle tightened her grip on his hip, urging him on, and Gold obliged her, shunting his hips faster in an effort to please her—to please both of them.  She was so hot, so tight around him, that he could feel himself melting into her, all the barriers coming down.  They were no longer two separate beings.  They were one.

He twisted his hips a little as he thrust, the intense burst of pleasure making his blood boil.  Belle moaned like she was feeling the exact same sensation and broke the kiss, pressing her lips together hard in an effort to stay quiet.  The broken, smothered noises that escaped through her nose were the most beautiful music he’d ever heard.

“I love you,” Gold muttered as he lavished her throat with kisses, as much to distract himself as to give her pleasure.  “God, I love you so much.”

Belle grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together as she held on hard, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering her to the Earth.  Unable to stop himself, Gold heaved forward, rolling her half onto her stomach as he surged against her, his thrusts deep and powerful.  With his free hand, he reached down to burrow his fingers into her soft nest of curls, searching for the place he’d found so easily with his tongue.

At this angle, it was more difficult, but when Belle buried her face in the pillow to muffle a yelp, he knew that he’d succeeded.  Gold lapped hungrily at her throat, lapping up her salty sweetness as he bucked his hips frantically against her, trying to maintain any semblance of a rhythm.  He was shaking, his entire body on the verge of combustion, and he ground his teeth as he struggled to hold on.  Belle wanted to feel him inside of her as she climaxed, and he would _not_ disappoint her.

Even so, it was all but impossible to hold back.  His thrusts were growing more erratic with each passing moment as his body desperately sought completion, and it was all he could do not to bite her, sink his teeth into her delectable throat to ground himself.  Instead, he bit his tongue, tasting blood, and the flash of pain allowed him to focus.

Taking advantage of the brief moment of sanity, Gold focused on his fingers instead of his throbbing cock, doing his best to echo what he’d been doing with his mouth that had pleased Belle so much.  He trapped the sensitive bud between his first two fingers, concentrating his attention on the sides instead of directly against the top, and that seemed to do the trick.  With a grunt, Belle arched her back like she’d been struck by lightning, shoving her hips back, and Gold’s control snapped.

A sharp thrust.  Another.  Again.  _Again_.  Each one provoked an increasingly frenzied reaction from Belle until he was pounding into her, rougher than he’d ever been before, but the thought that it might be too much never entered his mind.  Beneath him, Belle was writhing like she was being torn apart, and there was nothing but ecstasy in the sweet noises she was making in the back of her throat, her lips clamped tightly together.

Her body went taut, her hot channel clenching around him so hard that movement became impossible, and Gold hovered there on the brink of eternity until he had the presence of mind to squeeze his fingers together, desperate to push her over the edge.  

Burying her face in the pillow to muffle her scream, Belle came apart, her hips jerking helplessly, dragging him deeper, and with a rush of joy, Gold gave himself over to the indescribable pleasure, his lips drawing back to show his teeth as he spent himself with an animalistic growl.  It seemed to go on forever, endless waves of pleasure crashing into him as he poured himself into his wife.  Every time Belle whimpered or clenched around him, another flood of bliss threatened to drown him, and each time his hips jerked, she groaned like he’d done something amazing.

He collapsed, boneless and panting, his lips and fingers still moving lazily until Belle moaned for him to stop.  “Too much.  No more.”

With the last of his strength, Gold rolled them back onto their sides, unwilling to let go of this glorious connection.  “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  He was too spent to keep his eyes open, but he could hear the smile in her voice.  “And that was very much worth waiting for.”

“I heartily concur,” he mumbled as he snuggled her closer and buried his face in her hair, wishing there was a way he could simply crawl into her body and remain there permanently.

“You know, we never really had a honeymoon.”  He felt _wrecked_ , but clearly Belle wanted to talk, so he forced his eyes open and did his best to focus.

“That can be remedied.  Where do you want to go?”  He would love nothing more than to stay in their comfortable bed for the rest of his life, but the thought of showing Belle the world was a close second.

“The cabin.”

Her mundane request took him aback.  “The cabin?  Not London or Paris?”

“Nope.  It’s perfect.  It has a bed, a fireplace, and absolutely no neighbors.”

That was probably significant, but his brain still felt slow and sluggish, his blood taking its sweet time in returning to its proper place.  “Hm?”

Taking pity on him, Belle explained patiently.  “We can make as much noise as we want.”

“Oh!”  Now that she said it like that, the cabin was _definitely_ the perfect honeymoon location.

“So, what do you think?  Dad and Dove will be fine on their own for a while.”  Belle laced their fingers together again, running her thumb over his wedding ring.

She’d come a long way from the woman who was afraid to spend more than a few hours outside of Moe’s room.  “I think that my wife is a brilliant woman.  I knew there was a reason I married her.”

Belle snickered and turned her head so that she could kiss his jaw.  “My husband isn’t too bad himself.  Now, get some sleep.  You’re going to need all your energy for tomorrow.”

For the first time in his life, the thought of the future held absolutely no terror for Gold.  Tomorrow, and every day after, he would have Belle at his side, and as long as that was true, the future was sure to be a beautiful place.

Smiling senselessly into her hair, he closed his eyes.  “I can’t wait.”


	47. Chapter 47

“Oh dear!  I must have left that in another room.  Let me just go find it.”  

Gold glanced up from his book at Belle’s artificial tone, catching the furtive expression on her face as she removed her feet from his lap and slipped out of the room to take her phone call in a more private location.

His wife was a truly terrible liar.

He shook his head, wondering how someone with so much acting talent could be so awful at misdirection.  If she’d continued the call here in the living room, it never would have occurred to him to listen in on her conversation.  Likewise, if she’d just gotten up and left without a word, he would have thought nothing of it.  Instead, what she no doubt thought was an effective way to cover her tracks had only highlighted the fact that Belle was up to something that she didn’t want him to know about.

Gold took a deep breath, letting his suspicious nature suggest all sorts of horrible possibilities before he allowed those thoughts to pass.  His father and Milah had conditioned him to always leap to the worst possible conclusion, but that wasn’t necessary with Belle.  She loved him, and he trusted her.  She wasn’t cheating or plotting to leave him or doing any of the other things his paranoid mind dreamed up.

After another deep breath, the reasonable side of his brain suggested a much more likely reason for her to be sneaking around— his birthday was in two days.

Try as he might, Gold couldn’t imagine what she could be planning, but knowing Belle, he would probably like it.  Material goods were certainly unnecessary.  The only gift he really wanted was to spend a few uninterrupted days with her at the cabin.  Lately, she’d been so busy with supervising the work to transform Storybrooke’s old library into a state-of-the-art theater that they hadn’t had nearly enough time together.

Gold leaned back against the sofa, reflecting that there _was_ one gift he would like more than a few uninterrupted days with his wife.  They could make those days even better by devoting them to attempting to add another member to their family.  Watching Bae prepare himself for fatherhood had only heightened Gold’s longing for a child with Belle.  However, with Emma due any day, he and Belle had come to a quiet understanding that it wouldn’t be fair to steal this new arrival’s spotlight.  The experience of having a baby with his wife would be no less magical for being delayed by a year or two.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, double-checking to be sure that it was charged and ready.  Bae had promised to let him know when Emma went into labor, and Gold didn’t want to risk missing his son’s call.  There wasn’t much he could do from Maine, but at the very least, he could offer his boy moral support during this life-altering event.

After twenty-five years, Maine was his home, but Gold could keenly feel the distance between Storybrooke and Tallahassee.  If Bae was willing to let him take an active role in his grandson’s life, Gold would be overjoyed.  However, he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to be part of the boy’s life from fifteen hundred miles away.  He doubted that Bae and Emma would want him and Belle underfoot in their apartment as they adjusted to life with a newborn, and they certainly wouldn’t be up to visiting any time soon.

Taking a deep breath, he released it slowly as a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Archie Hopper pointed out that he was once again borrowing trouble.  Instead of worrying about how the future was going to play out, he would be better served to just enjoy the present.  In this present moment, nothing at all was wrong.  

When Belle rejoined him in the living room, her phone nowhere to be seen, the present moment became even more right.  “Get bored with your book?” she asked, nodding at the novel he’d forgotten he was reading.

“Dreadfully.”  He tossed the book aside in favor of pulling his wife down onto his lap, and when he felt her smile against his lips, he knew that all was right with the world.

So successful was he at releasing his suspicions over Belle’s behavior that two days later when his wife woke him with an exuberant kiss, Gold had no idea what was happening.

“It’s your birthday,” she reminded him, giggling at his befuddled expression.  “Happy birthday, Diarmid!”

Gold sat up and leaned back against the headboard, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.  “I forgot that was today.”

For the past twenty-five years, his birthday had been just another date on the calendar.  Now, he had a family to celebrate with.  No birthday gift could hold a candle to that miracle.  

“Can I give you your gift now?  I know it’s early, but if I don’t, I’ll just worry about it all day.”  Belle’s brow was furrowed as though she expected him to protest the idea.

“Of course.”  He couldn’t help but wonder why she thought she needed to worry.  Whatever she gave him, he was sure to like just for the sake of it being a gift from her.  If she handed him a package full of underwear and wooly socks, he would smile when he wore them because they reminded him of his beloved wife.

Instead of a package, Belle handed him a legal-size white envelope to which she’d taped a gold and blue bow.  “It reminded me of our cup,” she informed him as she brushed her fingers over the bow.

“It’s beautiful.”  He made a show of shaking the envelope, genuinely perplexed by what it could be.

“I _really_ hope you like it.  I broke one of our rules, but it was for a good cause because I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.  At least, that’s what I told myself at the time.  After I did it, I started second-guessing myself and worrying that you wouldn’t be happy with me.  By then it was kind of too late though.  It’s not like I could take it back.”  Belle was twisting her fingers together as she rambled, and Gold gave the envelope a suspicious look, feeling a bit like he was handling something radioactive.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”  Deciding to put both of them out of their misery, he quickly slid his finger under the flap and dumped the contents of the envelope into his lap.  

He found himself with a legal document and a pile of photographs.  Picking up the first picture, he took in the attractive lines of a Craftsman-style bungalow.  The other pictures were shots of what he assumed was the interior, decorated in a style that drew heavily from the slightly later Art Deco movement.

The bungalow was truly charming, but Gold didn’t have the slightest idea why Belle had chosen to buy him real estate for his birthday until he picked up the deed.  “It’s in Tallahassee.”

“It’s not quite five miles from Neal and Emma’s place.  I thought it would be nice for us to have a home base when we visit.  It’s not like we can camp out on their couch, and a hotel is so impersonal.  We’re going to be down there so much that I thought it made sense.  We can just keep things down there so we won’t have to shuttle tons of luggage back and forth.  I know that I’m not supposed to spend more than twenty thousand dollars without discussing it with you, but I thought it would be okay since I was spending the money from my own account.  And I did run it by Midas, and he thought it was a good investment.  He said the price was reasonable and—“

Gold dropped the deed and wrapped his arms around Belle, cutting off her torrent of words with a kiss.  It had only started to dawn on him that visits to Tallahassee were going to be complicated, and she’d solved the problem for him before he’d even said a word about it.

Belle flicked her tongue out to lick her bottom lip when he released her, a delighted smile blossoming on her face.  “You like it.”

“It’s _perfect_.”  Even as he said the words, a tiny flicker of doubt reared its head.  “I just hope Bae doesn’t mind the idea of us being so close.”  Frequent trips to Tallahassee to see his son and grandson sounded like a dream come true to Gold, but Bae might feel differently.  Weekly phone calls were one thing, but having his papa less than five miles away on a regular basis might cross the line into smothering.

Belle lifted a hand to cradle his jaw, her smile warm and tender.  “Neal helped me pick it out.”

Gold’s breath caught in his chest, his eyes burning.  “That’s who you were talking to,” he rasped as it all became clear.  Belle and Bae had been working together to give him this gift, and he’d worried for nothing.  He wasn’t going to smother his son or overstay his welcome.  Bae _wanted_ him around.

At Belle’s quizzical look, he elaborated.  “Your suspicious phone calls.  You were talking to Bae.”

“I was not suspicious!  I was really careful this time.”  Belle looked so affronted that he had to laugh.

“Sweetheart, you would make a dreadful spy.  The only way you could have been more obvious that you were up to something was if you’d tattooed the words ‘I’m up to something’ across your forehead.”  

Belle groaned.  “Oh hell, I’m sorry.  I thought I was doing better this time.  That probably brought up all sorts of bad memories, didn’t it?”

On that point, he could reassure her.  “Not at all.  I trust you.  I had one bad moment and then I realized that whatever you were doing probably had something to do with my birthday.  And low and behold, I was right.  I’m a genius.”

Snickering, Belle brushed her lips against his.  “And modest too.”

She pulled back to study his face.  “It really didn’t bother you?”

“It really didn’t.”  He’d come a long way from the paranoid wreck he’d been six months ago.  In fact, if things like this were going to keep happening, Gold thought he might learn to love surprises.

“ _Good_.  I’m still sorry though.”  She looked so serious that he had to kiss her again.

“Don’t be.  It was a lovely surprise.  And there’s something adorable about your attempts to be sneaky.  You’re absolutely terrible at it.  It’s rather reassuring to discover that there’s something my wife _can’t_ do.”  

As he hoped, his words made her laugh, dissolving any remaining tension.  Gold put the pictures and deed on his nightstand out of harm’s way, then wrapped his arms around Belle and pulled her back down into their nest of covers.  

“Going back to sleep?” she asked, her eyes wide with faux-innocence.

“Hardly.”  He lowered his mouth to hers, plans taking shape in his head as to how he could thank her properly for the birthday present.

Before he’d gotten past step two of his plan, his phone rang.  Gold groaned against Belle’s throat.  “I hate that damned thing.”

“Maybe Neal wants to wish you a happy birthday,” she suggested as she slipped out from under him.

“In that case, he has terrible timing.”  Despite his grumbling, his heart still lifted when he saw his son’s name on the screen.  “Good morning, Bae.”

“Emma’s water broke.”

Belle looked up at him, raising her eyebrows when he jumped.  “Okay,” he replied, not sure what else to say as he held the phone so she could hear too.

“It’s still early, but things are definitely happening.  How fast can you and Belle get here?”  Bae sounded more than a little frazzled.

“We’re on our way,” Gold promised.  “Breathe, Bae.  Everything is going to be okay.”

“Yeah, I know.  Sorry.  I’m just a little…” Bae trailed off, and Gold could almost see him raking his hand through his hair.

“You’re nervous.  It’s normal.  But everything is _fine_.  Belle and I will be there as soon as we can, and in the meantime, we’re just a phone call away.”  Gold used his most soothing voice, and it seemed to work.

“I’ll be glad when you get here,” Bae confessed.  “All right, I better go.  Oh!  I almost forgot.  Happy birthday, Papa.”

“Thank you, son.”  Gold shook his head in wonder as he ended the call.  Despite everything that was happening, Bae still remembered his birthday.

Belle beamed up at him.  “This kind of puts my present to shame, doesn’t it?”

“I’m glad you gave it to me this morning.  It looks like we’re going to need it.”  His mind was racing, trying to figure out a course of action that would get them to Tallahassee as fast as possible.

A quick kiss from Belle derailed his train of thought.  “I’ll jump in the shower and pack for us while you go figure out the flight.”

“I can do that.”  Having a specific task to accomplish instantly made him feel better.  

“I know you can.  You’re a genius after all.”  Belle’s eyes sparkled as she teased him with his own words.  

“Minx.”  Urgent as the situation was, Gold decided they still had time for one more kiss, and he made the most of it until Belle pulled away.

“We’re going to be grandparents,” she marveled.

Today they would be grandparents, and in a year or two, they would welcome a tiny bundle of their own.  His family was growing by the day, and nothing could be more beautiful than that.  His world, once so small and cold, had expanded in all directions to make room for the love and joy that was pouring in.

And it was all thanks to Belle.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmured, the emotion so strong that the words were easy to say.

Her eyes softened.  “I love you too, Diarmid.  Happy birthday, my darling.”

With his wife at his side, his father-in-law content and well down the hall, and his son preparing to welcome a son of his own, this birthday more than made up for all the ones he’d missed over the past two and a half decades.  Even more astonishingly, he had every reason to believe that this was only the beginning.  His future, once so barren, now promised so much happiness that he could barely comprehend it.

Gold lifted Belle’s hand to his mouth and kissed the backs of her fingers.  “There’s never been a happier one.”

With his family around him, Gold already had the greatest gift any man could ever receive.


End file.
